


black to blue

by SugarPill



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror (mild), Broken Bones, Cultural Differences, Explicit Language, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Politics, Pre-Series, Southern Water Tribe, Suicidal Thoughts, Teenage Bonding Over Trauma, The Southern Water Tribe is like Australia, accidental adoption, dadkoda, in that everything is dangerous and has way too many teeth, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25197757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarPill/pseuds/SugarPill
Summary: After rescuing a half-drowned Fire Nation prince, Hakoda makes the difficult decision to leave his ship and return home to Southern Water Tribe. But Zuko turns out to be less of a political bargaining chip and more of a traumatized, angry teenager—much like Sokka and Katara are no longer the children Hakoda remembers leaving behind two years ago.Or, pre-series Zuko is captured by the Southern Water Tribe and Hakoda ends up with an unexpected moral dilemma, a boatload of politics, and three surly teenagers under his roof.
Relationships: Bato & Hakoda (Avatar), Hakoda & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko & The Southern Water Tribe
Comments: 430
Kudos: 1483
Collections: AtLA <25k fics to read





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is inspired by MuffinLance's superlative [Salvage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21116591/chapters/50249441). This story has a similar premise, but I couldn't resist adding Sokka, Katara, and Gran-Gran, as well as some Water Tribe politics, into the mix. The names of the two ships, the _Wani_ , and the _Akhlut_ , are pulled directly from MuffinLance's work. 
> 
> This story also involves quite a lot of Southern Water Tribe world building, and like the show, I tried to base it on Inuit culture. Hopefully I don't inadvertently offend anyone, but if you have concerns, please let me know. 
> 
> For reference, this story begins about six months before the start of the series; Zuko is 15, Sokka is 14, and Katara is 13. 
> 
> As a WIP, tags are subject to change. If you are worried about a particular tag, feel free to ask.

Zuko wills land to appear as he gazes out at the horizon. It's been a week since the _Wani_ set course for the South Pole—the only place in the world he hasn't yet searched for the Avatar—and all they've seen so far is endless ocean and ice floes. Two years since he was burned and banished, two years of faulty starts and false leads and failure after failure. Zuko clenches his fists, his palms sizzling and his inner fire roaring like the furnace that drives the _Wani_ through the slate-gray waters. The Avatar has to be here. He _has_ to.

"Nephew." Zuko hears Uncle approaching before his hand lands on Zuko's shoulder. "There is a storm approaching. Perhaps it would be wise to alter our course to avoid it."

Zuko sees what Uncle means, the dark smear to the west of them. But it's far away, and the sky above them now is bright blue and cloudless. "No, we continue straight to the South Pole. We've already wasted enough time as it is. The Avatar—"

"The Avatar has been missing for a hundred years. Surely one more day won't make a difference."

"Of course it makes a difference!" Zuko roughly shrugs Uncle's hand off and rounds on him. "Every day we waste is another day I'm stuck on this rusty shit-bucket with you, and a crew of the very worst the Fire Nation has to offer!"

(He can practically feel it slipping through his fingers, his crown, his honor, his home, all of it—)

Lieutenant Jee looks up from his conversation with another crewman and glares at him. Zuko doesn't care. He already knows how much Jee and the rest of the men hate him.

"Remember your breath control, Prince Zuko," Uncle says, taking a deep, steady inhale of his own. "A firebender must be in control of his emotions."

Zuko snarls in anger and launches a fireball from his fist. It flies away from the ship and lands in the ocean with a hiss.

Uncle sighs.

"I understand you are eager to find the Avatar, and that the last two years have been… difficult. But you've been running yourself ragged. Even the fiercest warriors need rest. Come, join me for a cup of tea. We can continue our quest tomorrow."

"It's not _our_ quest, it's _my_ quest, and _no_ , you don't understand," Zuko fumes. "If you did, maybe you'd try helping me for once!"

"I am trying to help you, nephew. Now, please—"

"No!" Zuko's rage and frustration flash over into something with teeth, something looking to maim. "I'm in command of this ship, and I'm sick of you holding me back! Father is right, you really are just a lazy, useless old man!"

Zuko instantly wishes he could take the words back. Uncle's usually placid expression creases into one of hurt and disappointment. Zuko opens his mouth, a plea for forgiveness already on his tongue, but Uncle turns his back.

"As you wish, Prince Zuko."

Zuko grits his teeth as he watches Uncle shuffle below deck and out of sight. He resists the urge to run after him, Father's harsh words ringing in his head: _Only the weak apologize. Are you weak, Zuko?_

_I'm not weak. I'm not._

(But that's a lie. Zuko _is_ weak. That's what got him into this mess in the first place, that's why Father had to punish him, why he deserved to have his face painted in flames—)

Zuko blinks away the bitter memory. He looks up to see the rest of the crew watching him in heavy silence.

"What are you staring at?" Zuko hollers. "Get back to work!"

The men snap to, hurrying about their business while giving Zuko a wide berth. All except Lieutenant Jee, who looks at him with hard, disapproving eyes. Zuko turns away, his anger flaring back to life inside him. He stalks towards the bow of the ship to shoot more fireballs.

Anything to replace the guilt he feels swimming in his gut.

* * *

The _Wani_ rocks wildly, throwing Zuko into a bulkhead. Water is leaking like a sieve from above as the other crew members are tossed back and forth, thunder booming loudly enough to shake the entire ship.

Uncle was right in the end, of course. The storm found them only a few hours after their argument, too late for them to outmaneuver it. Now they're trapped, forced to ride it out and pray to Agni they don't sink.

Zuko growls and pulls himself along the passageway, bracing as the _Wani_ is hit with another earth-shattering swell, the metal of the ship groaning like a dying animal. Zuko finally makes it to the door, throwing it open and heaving himself through.

Zuko is hit with a wall of freezing rain and wind as soon as he steps onto the main deck. Nightfall has caused the temperature to plummet, and now every surface is crusted in ice from waves crashing over the rails. Above, lightning flashes against the black sky, and thunder rips through the clouds. Zuko stumbles and nearly falls as the deck pitches and rolls under his feet.

"Lieutenant!" Zuko shouts at Jee over the howling wind. "Something's wrong with the engines!" He'd heard the metallic sputtering below deck, and felt the ship losing momentum even though the crew was shoveling coal into the boilers at double-time.

"The engines are iced over!" Jee yells back. "We're trying to thaw them out, but the rain is freezing faster than we can work!"

Without her engines, the _Wani_ will be dead in the water, increasing their chances of hitting an iceberg or capsizing. Zuko can't let that happen, not after coming this far. Not when he's so close to finding the Avatar.

He turns to make his way back to the engines at the ship's stern, bracing a hand against the metal wall of the control tower. The _Wani_ tilts dizzily as another massive wave hits, Zuko's boots sliding on the icy deck. The cold is starting to seep into his wet uniform, frost forming in the grooves of his armor. But Zuko clenches his teeth and keeps moving.

When he finally reaches the engines, Zuko finds Engineer Hideki and the other firebenders melting ice off the machinery housings. But they barely finish one section before the next is frozen over. The engines whine as they struggle to operate, the exhaust stack belching smoke only in sporadic bursts.

"Prince Zuko?" Hideki asks in surprise. "What are you—"

"Can the ship run with only one engine?" Zuko demands.

"We'd lose some speed and maneuverability, and risk overtaxing the boiler system—"

Zuko grabs Hideki by the front of his uniform. "But can it be done?"

"Well… yes! I suppose so!"

"Then do it! Focus all your fire on only one engine, and keep it thawed!"

Hideki flicks his eyes over Zuko's shoulder. Jee has followed him.

"Prince Zuko, go back inside and let us handle this!" The lieutenant yells. "It's too dangerous out here!"

"No!" Zuko shouts back. "I won't hide while my men are out here risking their lives!"

Hideki glances at Jee again and Zuko feels a flash of resentment—two years he's been on this ship, and the men still don't trust him. Jee gives him a considering look. Zuko knows the lieutenant is weighing this moment against all the other times Zuko's ignored his advice, screamed him down in front of the crew, and generally made his job impossible. But to his surprise, Jee nods in agreement. 

"You heard the prince!"

Hideki, Jee, and the other firebenders crowd around the port side engine and wreathe it in flames. It works better than what they were doing before, but it's still not enough. The freezing rain is coming down in sheets, and all the moisture in the air is making it hard to bend. There's just not enough firepower to keep the ice at bay.

Well, Zuko didn't come out here just to stand around and gawk. He's halfway up the ladder than runs along the side of the control tower before Jee starts shouting at him.

"Prince Zuko! Come down from there!"

Zuko ignores him. He wraps one arm around the ladder, takes a deep breath, and aims a steady stream of fire down on the port engine. From this height he has a better angle to hit the top of the engine housing, much better than if he'd kept both feet planted on deck.

After a few minutes, Zuko is struggling to maintain such a continuous flame, the cold sapping his strength and the frostbitten air burning his lungs. But it's working. His added fire thaws the engine enough that it finally turns over and starts running again at full power.

The cheering of Jee and the others is interrupted by a colossal boom as lightning strikes near the ship's bow. Zuko leans around the side of the control tower to see Uncle standing alone on deck, two fingers pointed towards the sky. As he watches, Uncle performs a circular motion and points the other hand out to sea, sending a massive bolt of lightning flashing over the churning waves.

Zuko gapes. Did Uncle just… redirect lightning? He didn't think that was possible. The reason bending lightning is so dangerous—and so prized—is because there's little defense against it. Zuko had seen Father use it enough times to know.

(On dark nights, Zuko sometimes wonders if Father should have used lightning on him during their Agni Kai instead of fire. Would it have been crueler, or more merciful?)

The _Wani_ is broadsided by another huge wave, and Zuko's grip on the ladder slips. He tries to hold on, but the metal is too icy, and his fingers clutch at nothing but air, and then he's falling—

Zuko hits the deck hard. There's a sickening snap in his left leg, the limb buckling underneath him at an angle that is nauseatingly _wrong._ The scream he lets out is lost to the gale.

"Prince Zuko!" Jee shouts. He and the other crew members scramble to reach him, but not before the next swell hits.

The ship tilts hard to starboard, sending Zuko sliding across the icy deck. He tries to stop his momentum, but it's too slick, and his leg won't cooperate at all, and then he's tumbling over the rail, and—

And then he's sinking.

The ocean is so cold it steals Zuko's breath, makes his body burn in a way fire never has. He stretches a hand towards the rapidly-retreating surface, but it's getting farther and farther away—

Oh, Agni, his armor.

Zuko fights with the ties and latches, his fingers suddenly too thick and clumsy in the numbing water. He starts with the heaviest pieces, his shoulder guards and breast plate, frantically tearing at them as his lungs start to burn and his vision begins to darken. He manages to get them both off, casting them into the watery darkness, and then struggles as hard as he can towards the surface.

He bursts into the air with a deep gasp, coughing and sputtering as he strains to keep his head above water. The _Wani_ has drifted away from him on the surging ocean, but he can still reach it, he's a strong swimmer—

Zuko tries kicking and cries out when his leg sears in pain. He does it again anyway, and again, biting the inside of his cheek as he lurches agonizingly forward. He can hear the emergency bell ringing abroad the ship, the call of _man overboard!_ , and over all of it, Uncle's frantic shouting. He prays the crew keeps Uncle from jumping in after him, he's fine, he can make it—

A wave crashes over his head, the world turning end over end in a freezing blur. When Zuko resurfaces, the _Wani_ is even farther away, and he can hear nothing but the wind and the roaring ocean. He unbuckles his skirt guard and both arm braces, but his sprits-damned leg is like a dead weight getting heavier by the second. He swims until his muscles are screaming, until his lungs are heaving, until his leg is nothing but a burning line of pain—

Another swell pulls Zuko under, and this time when he finally breaks the surface, the _Wani_ is nowhere to be seen. Just miles and miles of dark water and howling rain.

Zuko is alone.

* * *

Hakoda is poring over charts for their next mission when there's a knock on his cabin door. Amaruq, one of his younger crewmen, bursts in without waiting for an answer. Hakoda sighs. At least the kid knocked this time.

"Chief! Something on deck you're gonna want to see."

Hakoda follows Amaruq onto the main deck. The storm that had battered the _Akhlut_ over the last few hours has passed, the ragged sky smoothing into a calm evening. Several of Hakoda's men are gathered around something near the port side rail. As Hakoda approaches, the men part, and he sees what all the fuss is about.

It's a man, laying facedown on the deck. Or more like a boy, judging by his size.

"We found him on an iceberg," Kalik, his boatswain, says. "He must have fallen overboard."

Another crewman, Tulok, frowns. "Yeah, but from where? We haven't seen another ship in days. And he's not wearing blue, or green."

 _Or red_ goes unspoken. The boy's tunic and trousers are dark gray, but it's a bit hard to tell soaking wet and covered in salt. The boy himself is as pale as death, his odd tail of hair frozen solid.

"Is he alive?" Hakoda asks.

Kalik opens his mouth to answer, but the boy chooses that moment to vomit seawater all over Hakoda's boots.

"Well, that answers that," Amaruq jokes. Several of the men chuckle, until Hakoda shoots them a look. He knows from experience that the men will tease him about this for weeks, but right now is not the time for humor.

Kalik kneels down to thump the boy between the shoulder blades. He retches a few more times, followed by violent coughing and shivering. When he finally sits up, several of the crewmen take a step back.

"Mother of spirits," Tulok murmurs.

The boy has a very large burn scar on the left side of his face, one of the worst Hakoda has ever seen on someone still living. Hakoda is still staring at it when the boy finally cracks his eyes open.

His golden yellow eyes.

Several of the men have their weapons drawn before Hakoda can even give the order. The singing of metal against metal snaps the boy to attention and he growls, shoving Kalik away and getting into a fighting stance.

Or at least he tries to. His left leg gives out immediately, and the boy slips and falls back to the deck with a shout of pain. Hakoda can tell from here that the limb is badly broken.

"Get away from me!" The boy rasps, trying and failing repeatedly to stand. He looks like an angry otter penguin flailing on a sheet of ice, but the fierceness in his eyes—and the gravity of the situation—keeps anyone from laughing.

Kalik edges to the side until he's almost behind the boy, out of his line of sight. He rests his hand on the blade at his hip and looks Hakoda in the eye.

It would be more merciful to give the boy a quick death, rather than throw him back in the ocean. But Hakoda doesn't feel right about executing someone so young. Not without asking him some questions first. This boy can't be much older than his own son, after all.

So instead, Hakoda stays Kalik with a raise of his hand, and slowly crouches down in front of the boy.

"Are you Fire Nation?" he asks evenly.

The boy stops trying to stand and fixes Hakoda with his blazing yellow eyes, panting heavily. "Yes."

"Are you a firebender?"

"Of course I am!" The boy snarls. He punches his fist forward, and Hakoda jerks out of the way. But no flame appears. Not even a puff of smoke. Hakoda's not sure who looks more surprised, him or the boy.

"Chief!" Kalik darts forward and clamps a hand on the back of the boy's neck, holding him in place. The boy bares his teeth and starts struggling again, clawing at Kalik's arm for all he's worth. The other men shift warily, weapons at the ready, but Hakoda raises his hand again. They won't attack without his command.

"Let me go!" The boy croaks. "Get off of me!"

"And why should we do that?" Hakoda asks, tilting his head. "You're on an enemy ship. We rescued you, and then you tried to attack me."

The wrath in the boy's eyes slides into fear. He freezes and his gaze darts around the deck, as if he's just now noticing the other men; how sharp their blades are, how blue their clothing.

Then the boy's face hardens and he scowls at Hakoda. He does his best to stand as tall as possible with a broken leg and Kalik's firm hand still on his neck. When he speaks, it's in a ringing, aristocratic voice intended for far higher places than a Water Tribe ship.

"Because I am Zuko, son of Ursa and Fire Lord Ozai, crown prince and heir to the Fire Nation throne, and I demand you release me!"

A thick silence blankets the deck. The men stare in shock. Hakoda just blinks at this boy, this apparent _prince_ , angrier than a tiger seal and with none of the survival instincts to match.

The boy manages to hold his dignified pose for a few more moments. Then violent shivers start to wrack his body again, until his eyes roll back and he slumps in Kalik's grasp, passed out cold.

Only Amaruq has the gall to say what they're all thinking out loud.

"Is he _serious?_ " 

"Yeah," Hakoda says faintly. "I think he is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are welcome. 
> 
> I can be found on Tumblr [here](http://www.hersugarpill.tumblr.com).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added tags for bad language because Bato, and implied/referenced child abuse because Ozai.

Hakoda looks down at the prince's unconscious form. He doesn't look nearly as fierce this way, laying in a puddle of seawater and his own sick, shivering uncontrollably. He looks two steps from death's door. He looks like a child.

(No. That won't help make this decision any easier.)

The sensible thing would be to kill the prince while he's still out. Quick, painless. A sharp slice, and then roll him back into the ocean's embrace. Many Water Tribe warriors had suffered worse at the hands of Fire Nation soldiers. It won't bring their dead brothers back, or unmake their widows and orphans. But it would make the Fire Lord taste their pain, feel the sting of their steel. It would be something, at least.

But what if they could get something more out of the prince? Something more than just hollow satisfaction and weak justice?

"Chief?"

His crew are still waiting for orders. Kalik has drawn his knife, mittened hand flexing around the grip. As his acting second, Kalik is directly responsible for carrying out his commands. If Hakoda gives the word, it will be he who slits the prince's throat.

Hakoda takes a deep breath. The men aren't going to like this.

"Stand down."

Kalik doesn't move. None of them do. "Chief."

"I said stand down. I think this prince will be more useful to us alive than dead."

"He's a firebender, and we're on a _wooden ship_ ," Tulok bites out, his club clutched in his fist. "Better to kill him now, while we still have the chance."

"Better for who, Tulok?" Hakoda asks. "For us, sure. We protect our ship, and we get a small measure of revenge. But what about our warriors rotting in Fire Nation prisons? What about the tribe we left behind?"

A ripple of uneasy mutters and shifting weapons runs through the crew.

"You want to use the prince to make a trade," Kalik says. It's not a question; the boatswain is young, but he's always been quick. "How do you know the Fire Lord will even cooperate?"

"I don't," Hakoda admits. "But if we execute the prince now, we'll never find out. And if the Fire Lord is willing to talk terms to get his son back in one piece… I think we owe it to our tribe to try."

"Chief, the brat's not going to last the night anyway," Tulok says. "You're just delaying the inevitable."

"He might if we heal him."

The crew's mutterings increase to angry shouts of protest and the raising of weapons and fists.

"Heal him? So he can turn around and roast our ship to ash?"

"Throw him back!"

"Cut his throat!"

"It's the least the little bastard deserves after all the Fire Nation has done to us!"

On the deck at their feet, the prince curls even tighter into himself, shivering miserably.

Kalik steps forward, and the noise dies down somewhat. "Chief, I get what you're trying to do. But the Fire Nation isn't known for being merciful. We don't even know if the captured warriors are still alive."

A hush falls over the crew. It's a question that's haunted Hakoda since they joined this war, haunted all of them: Are their fellow tribesmen still alive? Or had they been killed as soon as they were no longer useful? Hakoda wants to remain hopeful, but he's seen firsthand what the ash eaters do to those deemed unworthy of their consideration.

It's Bato who finally breaks the silence.

"Until we know otherwise, we act as though they are," his quartermaster, and former second, says. He'd been watching the proceedings from the stern, but now he steps forward, his heavily bandaged arm hanging limply at his side. "Our brothers wouldn't give up on us. So we won't give up on them."

Murmurs of agreement and solemn nods follow Bato as he comes to stand by Hakoda's side. "I understand your reservations about the Chief's plan. Keeping a firebender on our ship is obviously a great risk. But I also know that Hakoda is a strong and fair chief. He wouldn't put us in harm's way without good reason."

Leave it to Bato to cut to the heart of the matter. Aboard the _Akhlut_ , in the heat of battle, Hakoda's word is law. But when the ship is in peaceful waters, every man gets a say in how things are done. If enough crew members speak out against Hakoda's plan, he'll be forced to reconsider. If he refuses, he'll lose the respect of his crew, and potentially—once they return home—his position as chief.

But Hakoda has led this crew faithfully and to the best of his ability for two years. He would die for any one of his men, and almost has, on a few occasions. They trust him, because Hakoda has earned it.

And now he's calling on that trust.

Hakoda looks each of his men in the eye in turn. He sees many angry, unhappy faces. But no one steps forward to speak out against him.

Finally, Kalik gives him a nod, and sheaths his blade. One by one, the other men follow suit. The last to lower his weapon is Tulok, but even he does so without saying a word.

"It's settled, then," Hakoda says. "As of this moment, the Fire Nation prince is our prisoner. We will do our best to keep him alive until I can contact the Fire Lord and negotiate his release. Anyone who tries to harm him will answer to me."

The silence turns knife-sharp when Hakoda kneels down to gather the dripping prince in his arms. The boy isn't exactly light, but he goes easily enough, not making a sound save for the small whimper that escapes through his chattering teeth.

"Bato and Kalik, come with me. The rest of you, back to your posts."

The crew disperses. Hakoda carries the unconscious prince below deck and through the galley, to where the ship's healer had cordoned off a small, makeshift infirmary. Water Tribe ships weren't built with war in mind; outside the occasional fishing injury, they had never needed a space to treat wounded men.

Kalik pulls aside the curtain. The healer, a grizzled old man named Arrluk, looks up from his nightly cup of spiced liquor.

"Evening, Chief," he drawls. "Who's this?"

"Arrluk, meet Prince Zuko, future Fire Lord and current Water Tribe prisoner," Bato says dryly.

If the healer is surprised to see Hakoda lay Fire Nation royalty out on his cot, he doesn't show it. He sets down his cup and begins checking the boy over as if he were any other patient.

"How long was he in the water?" Arrluk asks, feeling for the prince's pulse.

"Don't know," Hakoda says. "But it can't have been too long, or he'd already be dead."

"He's well on his way to that," Arrluk tuts. He hands Kalik a few empty waterskins. "Fill these with warm water. Chief, help me get his clothes off."

Kalik heads back to the galley to restart the ship's cooking fire. The prince is shivering so badly Hakoda has to hold him down while the healer strips off his wet tunic. His left boot and trousers get stuck around his swollen leg, so Arrluk cuts them off with a few well-placed knife swipes.

All of them hiss when the fabric is peeled back to reveal the wound. The prince's lower leg is badly broken and mottled with heavy bruising, the end of the bone poking out of the skin just below his knee.

"By the bruising, this is at least a few hours old," Arrluk says, leaning in to inspect the injury. "I can bandage it up and splint it, but we can't set his leg until the swelling goes down."

"What are his chances?" Hakoda asks.

"Not good," Arrluk replies bluntly. "Breaks like this often get infected. I'll clean the wound as best I can and put a poultice on it, but I'd start praying to the spirits if I were you."

Bato huffs out a humorless laugh. "I'll save my breath. Be easier if the kid died, anyway."

Hakoda raises his brows and gives Bato an appraising look. "So you don't actually agree with my plan."

"Hell no. But I'm not going to argue with you in front of the men."

Hakoda helps Arrluk heap heavy furs over the prince's shaking body. "All right. So what don't you like about it?"

"For starters? All of it."

Kalik returns with the waterskins. Arrluk positions them under the furs close to the prince's torso. The warm water will help bring his core temperature back up. 

"That's all you have to say?" Hakoda goads with a smirk. "It's not like you to hold back, Bato."

Bato shoots him a look. "Fine. It's a terrible fucking plan. One of the worst you've ever come up with."

"Oh, come on. What about the time we tried to lasso that arctic hippo? Or the great blubber fiasco?"

"What's the great blubber fiasco?" Kalik asks.

Bato waves at hand at him. "It's a long story. A very long, very dumb story that was all Hakoda's fault."

Hakoda chuckles, and gives Bato's uninjured arm a nudge. "This is the process! I come up with the ideas, and you refine them with your wit and unrelenting pessimism. Come on, humor me."

Arrluk rinses the prince's wound with water, wiping away the blood that oozes out. Bato sighs and tilts his face towards the overhead beams, as if asking the spirits for strength.

"It's too much risk for no guaranteed result," he finally says. "Even if we do manage to subdue Prince Fire Punch here and keep him from burning our ship down—and I _really_ don't know how we're going to do that—there are too many unknowns. We don't know if the Fire Lord will be willing to negotiate. We don't know if our warriors are still alive. We don't even know for sure if this kid _is_ the prince."

That's an issue Hakoda hasn't considered yet. "You think he's lying?"

"He's not lying about those yellow eyes, and the Fire Lord does have a son named Zuko. But that's common knowledge. Either way, we'd be fools to believe the brat on his word alone."

Arrluk packs a green-colored concoction around the prince's wound and begins winding a clean bandage around his leg.

"So we need to confirm his identity somehow," Hakoda muses, stroking his beard. "I could write to one of our Earth Kingdom contacts, see if they can give us a description. Can't be too many people with a scar like that."

"Having someone in the Earth Kingdom route our messages to the Fire Lord would be smart, too," Kalik pipes up. "So our position is obscured."

Hakoda claps Kalik on the shoulder and grins. "Look at you, all grown up and suggesting espionage!"

Kalik rolls his eyes, but doesn't dislodge Hakoda's hand. Bato chuckles. Kalik has matured into a capable warrior and budding strategist in his two years aboard the _Akhlut._ He'll make an excellent chief one day, if he chooses that path.

Having finished bandaging the prince's leg, Arrluk selects two relatively straight pieces of wood from his supplies. He beckons Kalik over. "Hold these on either side of his leg, like this. I'm going to tie them around his leg to splint it."

Kalik does as he's told. Arrluk threads a strip of fabric under the prince's knee and eases it into position. Then he ties the two ends together and pulls them tight.

The prince howls and jackknifes off the cot. He flails wildly, like he's trying to escape and fight back, all at once. Hakoda lunges forward to grab him just as the boy raises his fist in a familiar motion.

This time, a few tendrils of fire shoot out of the prince's knuckles. It's not much, but it's enough to set the curtain alight. Bato lurches away just as Kalik rushes forward to tear the curtain down and stomp the flames out. 

The prince doesn't get a second attempt.

Hakoda throws him back down on the cot, pinning his biceps in an iron grip. "Try that again and I'll break both your arms," he warns in a low, hard voice. One wrong spark could set their ship ablaze and send them all plunging to a watery grave. 

Hakoda expects the prince to keep struggling like he had on deck, to bare his teeth and fight like a wild animal. But to his surprise, the boy flinches away, doing his best to shrink back even as Hakoda holds him fast. His eyes are squeezed shut and he's muttering something fast and desperate under his breath.

"Speak up," Hakoda orders, giving the prince a good shake.

The boy's eyes snap open, his good one round enough that Hakoda can see a ring of white around the gold. He continues his strange litany at a louder, higher pitch, and Hakoda feels his heart sink into his boots.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm your loyal son, I'll do better, I promise, I'll do better—"

"Son?" Kalik asks over the smoking remains of the curtain. "What's he talking about?"

"He thinks Hakoda is his father."

Hakoda looks up to see Bato has moved back several paces, the dark expression on his face mirroring the dread and disgust Hakoda feels roiling in his gut. The Fire Lord is a cruel bastard, head of a kingdom that runs on brutality and blood. Why is it surprising that he would treat his own son the same way?

(Cruelty always surprises Hakoda, always. Even after two years of a war that seems bound and determined to burn that out of him.)

Arrluk removes the lantern from the hook on the wall and brings it closer. The prince flinches again, harder this time. He turns his head away and strains against Hakoda's hold like he wants to ball up against the bulkhead, his desperate words fading into a faint murmur. Arrluk grips the boy's chin and gently pulls his face back into the light. His yellow eyes are still seeing some invisible terror, but even Hakoda can see how glassy and out of sorts they look. Arrluk feels his forehead and unscarred cheek before pulling back with a frown.

"Looks like his fever's started," the old healer says grimly. "Chief, let him go." 

"But—"

"Holding him down like that is only going to upset him more, which will make his injuries worse," Arrluk says in a tone that brooks no argument. "If you insist on restraining him, find some other way."

Reluctantly, Hakoda releases the prince's arms. The boy immediately turns away from them and curls inward as best he can, like he's trying to make himself as small as possible. It sends a pang through Hakoda's heart, but it also draws forth a memory: After Kya died, his children had shown their grief in different ways. Katara had raged during the day, equal parts anger and sorrow. But Sokka had saved his suffering for the night, when he thought no one was watching. Hakoda had been awoken by his son's night terrors many times before he figured out the best way to soothe him.

Hakoda eases the prince into a sitting position and climbs onto the cot behind him. Then he pulls the boy to his chest and wraps his arms around him. 

The prince struggles, but it's weaker this time, and with his arms and hands pinned under Hakoda's, it's not much of a fight. He doesn't start up his frantic apologizing again either, thank the spirits. After a moment, the boy sags in Hakoda's hold with a soft whine, trembling like a newborn buffalo yak.

Arrluk is watching the scene with undisguised amusement. Kalik looks at Hakoda like he's grown a second head.

"Are you… are you _hugging_ him, Chief?" He asks, completely bewildered.

"Looks like," Bato says. His tone is light, but his expression is hard and unreadable. "Truly terrifying technique. We should use this the next time we run into a Fire Nation battalion. We can cuddle them into submission."

Hakoda glares at them. "I used to do this with my oldest. It calmed him down, and kept him from hurting himself when he had nightmares."

The other three men continue to stare.

"Look, I'm just trying to keep the little demon from setting our ship on fire," Hakoda grouses. "Arrluk, get on with it already."

The healer shakes his head, still clearly tickled, but does as Hakoda asks. He readies another strip of fabric and ties it around the splints, repeating the process down the prince's leg. Every time Arrluk pulls the fabric taut, the boy goes rigid and bucks feebly in Hakoda's arms, but keeps any sound of pain locked behind his clenched teeth. Hakoda can feel the frantic beating of his heart, the way his chest is rising and falling rapidly. The kid seems to be expending all his strength to not cry out, and… and Hakoda doesn't want to think about why.

Arrluk straightens with a groan, patting the prince's uninjured leg. The other is now covered in a neat line of ties, the splints running perpendicular from mid-thigh to ankle. "There. That's the best I can do for now. But I should have something for his fever."

"Wait," Bato says suddenly. "Arrluk, how can he be running a fever if he's hypothermic?"

Hakoda frowns over the prince's ponytail, because Bato is right; he should still be freezing, but instead Hakoda can feel heat radiating from the boy's skin through his anorak.

"Because he's not hypothermic anymore," the healer replies simply, tipping the ingredients of various jars into a stone mortar. "Feel the waterskins."

Bato picks up one of the waterskins that had fallen to the floor during the earlier struggle. He turns it between his hands and his expression creases in confusion. He pops the cork and spills a few drops into his unbandaged hand. "Huh. It's ice cold."

"Little devil sucked all the heat out of them and into his body," Arrluk explains, working a pestle into the mortar. "Warmed him up faster than any hypothermic patient I've ever had. Pretty clever, actually."

"Yeah," Bato says flatly. He sets the waterskin down on Arrluk's workbench like it contains something poisonous. "Real clever."

"Afraid it's probably made his fever worse, though." Arrluk adds a splash from his cup into the mortar and returns to the cot working a small ball of paste between his hands. "Tilt his head back."

Hakoda shifts the prince's head to one shoulder and leans back a bit. Arrluk pulls down his chin, pushes the ball between his teeth, and holds his jaw shut until he swallows. The boy grimaces and coughs a little, obviously not pleased with the taste.

"That should help with his fever?" Hakoda asks.

"Hopefully, although I have no idea what temperature is normal for a firebender," Arrluk says. Then he grins. "I also added a sedative."

"What—that was an option?!" Hakoda sputters.

"You didn't ask," Arrluk says, completely unrepentant as he pours himself a fresh cup of liquor. "And you looked like you were having so much fun with the hugging. I didn't want to interrupt."

Bato and Kalik are cackling like madmen. Hakoda feels his face heat up and jumps off the cot like it's on fire, maneuvering the now limp prince flat on his back. The boy's face is slack and relaxed, making him look years younger. Or perhaps just his real age.

"Ha ha, yes, very funny," Hakoda says, putting his hands on his hips. "Laugh it up, you ingrates."

"Hey, when you're my age, you have to get your kicks wherever you can," Arrluk chuckles into his drink. Bato and Kalik are now doubled-over and howling like hog monkeys.

"I'm going to bed," Hakoda grumbles. "Let me know if anything changes."

"Sure thing, Chief," Kalik chokes out, wiping away tears of laughter. 

"Let us know if you need any more hugs!" Bato calls after him.

Hakoda drags a hand down his face and trudges towards his cabin. Ungrateful ingrates, his crew, every single one of them.

* * *

Zuko doesn't like it here—where is here, anyway?—it's too cold, and he's lost, and he can't find Uncle anywhere.

Hands grab at him out of the dark, and he tries to fight, tries to get away, let go of him, stop, _let him go_ —

"Zuko," Father hisses down at him, too-hot hands tightening around his arms. Zuko doesn't know what he's done this time, but he never knows, not really, how can he know if no one ever bothers to _explain?_

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm your loyal son, I'll do better, I promise, I'll do better—"

And then Zuko is down on his knees in the Agni Kai chamber, Father towering over him. Every person in the stands is staring at him with blue eyes, but that's not right, why are they _blue_ —

"You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher."

Zuko knows what happens next, so he turns his face away. He clenches his teeth, he won't make a sound. He knows how much angrier it makes Father when he cries.

But then the tiles beneath him ripple and liquify, and then he's sinking, sinking, sinking—

He's suspended, water all around him. Above the surface, lightning and thunder tear the sky, but this far down, it barely echoes. The water feels like an embrace, warm and quiet and safe. When was the last time Zuko felt safe? He can't remember.

Zuko floats, weightless. Maybe he'll sleep. Just for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I can't believe the response this story has gotten. Seriously, I've been grinning like a maniac all week. Thank you so much to everyone who commented, left kudos, bookmarked, and subscribed! 
> 
> The democracy and ranking system on the _Akhlut_ is based on pirate articles during the Golden Age of Piracy. I wanted the Southern Water Tribe to be the opposite of the Fire Nation, and it just so happens that pirates were very anti-fascist. (And also because I'm a Black Sails fan. Highly recommended, unless you're like. A young child person.)
> 
> Apologies for any medical inaccuracies. The hypothermia treatment mentioned is fairly factual; you don't really need to use body heat to warm someone up, unless you have no other options (or unless you're writing fanfiction and that's a Thing you want to do, of course). 
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are welcome. 
> 
> I can be found on Tumblr [here](http://www.hersugarpill.tumblr.com).


	3. Chapter 3

"Thought I'd find you out here."

Hakoda turns his eyes from the horizon to find Bato leaning next to him on the ship's rail. The night is clear and cold, the stars bright and close like they can only be in the south.

"You couldn't sleep either?" Hakoda asks.

Bato gives him a ghost of a smirk. "Nope. I had a nightmare our chief wanted to keep a firebender on our ship."

Hakoda huffs out a laugh. "Sounds awful. How is the little demon?"

"The same. The medicine is keeping his fever stable, and keeping him unconscious. For now, anyway."

Hakoda nods. Alive and asleep is good. It means Hakoda still has time to figure out what the hell they're going to do with the boy once he wakes up. "And you?"

"I'm fine," Bato replies automatically. Hakoda doesn't miss how he tucks his injured arm to his side, like he's trying to hide it. "Arrluk says another week or two, and the bandages can finally come off."

"That's great. But I wasn't asking about your arm."

Bato fixes him with a look, his eyes electric blue in the moonlight. Then he sighs. "You caught that, huh?"

"Kind of hard to miss," Hakoda says, trying for levity. "With the fire and all."

"Yeah, and me jumping out of the way like a coward," Bato mutters.

Hakoda squeezes Bato's uninjured shoulder. "It's understandable that you and fire might not be on the best of terms right now. And Kalik took care of it, so no harm done."

"Right," Bato says flatly. "Good thing the kid nearly half my age is so good at my job."

"Hey, none of that," Hakoda gently chides. "No one blames you for getting hurt, or for taking the time to properly heal. Kalik knows he's just filling in for you until you're back in fighting shape."

Bato falls silent, and Hakoda lets him. Bato has never been particularly open about his feelings, even when they were kids. But Hakoda knows how much his friend worries about not being able to fulfill his ship duties, about his burned arm never being strong enough to swing a club or throw a spear again. Hakoda has told him a hundred times that it doesn't matter, that no one could ever replace Bato, one-armed or not. But getting Bato to believe it is another thing entirely.

The silence stretches comfortably between them, water lapping quietly against the _Akhlut's_ hull. Finally, Bato clears his throat.

"You don't have to do this, you know. Ransoming the prince. I get you feel a responsibility to the captured warriors. We all do. But if helping them is too great a risk for the ship, no one will blame you for choosing the ship."

"I'd blame me," Hakoda says quietly. "With the prince, we finally have a chance to make a real difference in this war, something more than chipping away at the Fire Navy one ship at a time. It's an opportunity we'd be foolish to waste."

"Is it the opportunity? Or the prince?"

Hakoda frowns at Bato. "What do you mean?"

"Did you come up with this plan because you honestly think it will work? Or because you don't want to kill a kid who reminds you of your own?"

"That's—of course that's not the reason," Hakoda retorts, straightening up sharply. He very much doesn't admit how carrying the prince had evoked memories of doing the same for Sokka and Katara; the familiar comfort of a warm weight in his arms, soft, sleepy breaths against his shoulder. "And even if it was, is that such a bad thing? To not want to murder a child?"

"Of course not." Bato's face is as impassive as the ocean around them. "But I have to ask: What if it comes down to the prince, or the crew?"

Hakoda stares at Bato for a moment. But then he deflates. "I know," he sighs. "Every time I close my eyes, I see that curtain go up like kindling. If the fire had been a bit bigger, or Kalik a bit slower—"

"We'd all be dead," Bato finishes.

"Yeah. And it'd be all my fault." Hakoda's crew burnt to a crisp because of a decision he made, their ship a twisted wreck on the sea floor because he wasn't satisfied with the sensible choice. It fills him with dread just thinking about it.

Hakoda groans and paces the rail in frustration. "I know there's a way to make this work. I just haven't figured it out yet."

"Maybe because there's not some magical solution that will fix everything," Bato says, though not unkindly. "We have two opposing, immovable facts: A kid who shoots fire, and a very wooden, very flammable ship. No amount of scheming is going to change that."

Hakoda stops pacing. An idea springs into his mind, fully formed. For a moment, he doesn't breathe, the prospect of it still too intangible, too tempting to look at fully. His heart comes alive in his chest, and it aches.

"Immovable," Hakoda murmurs.

"What?"

"You said the kid and the ship are immovable," Hakoda says, renewing his pacing. "But what if we could move one of them?"

Bato's eyes track Hakoda's back and forth movement. "I don't like that face you're making. That face means you've thought of something, and I'm not going to like it."

"What if we hold the prince somewhere on land? Remove the ship from the equation entirely?"

"That—that's actually not a bad idea," Bato admits. "But hold him where? Without the mobility of the ship, we'd need somewhere easily defendable. The Earth Kingdom?"

Hakoda shakes his head. "Anywhere in the Earth Kingdom with that level of fortification means dealing with the Earth Kingdom military, which means…"

"… Which means dealing with the Earth Kingdom generals," Bato nods, following Hakoda's line of thought. "Who'd undoubtably try to take the prince for themselves."

"Exactly," Hakoda says. "And we can't trust the Northern Water Tribe, either. Our tribe has suffered Fire Nation raids for the last sixty years, and in all that time, they've never once lifted a finger to help us. That tells us all we know about them."

"No argument from me on that," Bato agrees. "But then where does that leave…?" His eyes snap to Hakoda in disbelief. "No. Oh, no."

Hakoda can't help the smile that breaks over his features. "Oh, yes."

Bato turns his face skyward in exasperation. "Spirits, you can't be serious! You want to take the Fire Nation prince to the Southern Water Tribe? To our _home?_ "

"Think about it," Hakoda says quickly. "We'd still have control over the prince, without any foreign interference, and without the added danger of being on a ship in the middle of the ocean. And since our last mission took us so far south, the trip could be made in a day or two's time, with a favorable wind."

Bato pinches the bridge of his nose with his good hand. "Yep, this is the part I don't like. Really, _really_ don't like."

"I'll write our communications to the Fire Lord like we're still at sea," Hakoda goes on, "and then route them through an Earth Kingdom contact like Kalik suggested. The Fire Nation won't even know we're there."

"It's not the Fire Nation I'm worried about!" Bato exclaims. Then he lowers his voice, mindful of any other crewmen still awake. "Do you think our village will be okay with having an ash eater living in their midst? Not to mention what the Council of Elders will have to say about it!"

"We'll keep the prince separate," Hakoda explains. "Obviously, we don't want to upset anyone unnecessarily. And I'll need to speak with the Council anyway, if we're to get the diplomatic authority to negotiate with the Fire Lord on behalf of the whole tribe."

"It's still a huge risk, Hakoda," Bato argues, trying to cross his arms defensively before remembering his bad arm doesn't bend that way anymore. "What if the prince escapes? What if he hurts someone? Are you willing to put your kids in danger like that? Your mother? Everyone we know?"

"He won't," Hakoda promises. "You and I will make sure of that."

"You and I…?" Bato repeats, his brow wrinkling in confusion. "Wait. You want me to go with you?"

"Of course!" Hakoda claps him on the back. "I can't do this by myself, not without backup."

"But I—I can't—" Bato clutches his injured arm close. His fast twists with emotion for a second before becoming carefully blank. "No. I'm no good to you like this. Take someone else."

"Bato,"Hakoda says, his hand coming to rest between the other man's shoulder blades. "Convincing the Council to back this plan will be difficult. I need someone on my side to help persuade them, someone I trust completely. Who better for the job than my oldest and closest friend?"

Hakoda feels Bato tense, and he's quiet for a long moment. Hakoda knows he's thinking of their shared history; side by side, always, from their first boyhood snowball fight, to every battle since then. It's why Hakoda had refused to abandon Bato at the abbey after he was hurt. If Bato was going to die, he was going to do it on a ship built by their fathers' fathers and with the sea at his back, not among strangers.

Finally, Bato takes a breath, and Hakoda feels him relax. He squares his shoulders and lifts his chin, humor once again flickering in his eyes.

"Fine," he says. "But only because it wouldn't be one of your stupid plans if I wasn't along to witness it."

"No, it wouldn't," Hakoda laughs, nudging Bato in the side. It wins Hakoda a smile. "Thank you."

"What are friends for? Besides, now I get to watch you tell the crew you're taking the prince home to meet your mother after hugging him within an inch of his life."

Hakoda glares at Bato. "Spirits, does _everyone_ know already?"

"It was either that, or listen to another one of Tulok's fishing stories," Bato shrugs, looking entirely too cheerful. "But hey, good news! You won't have to worry about the prince after the men roast you alive."

Hakoda puts his face into his hands and groans.

* * *

They leave at first light. The ship's cutter, a small boat with a single sail, is loaded with a few days' worth of supplies. It will be a tight fit for three people, but Hakoda doesn't want to delay the _Akhlut's_ journey to her next rendezvous point any more than they already have.

Kalik passes Hakoda a jug of fresh water and gives him a considering look. "You sure about this, Chief?"

It's been a constant refrain from the crew since Hakoda had told them his plan. Predictably, the men don't like it. But they like the idea of Hakoda and Bato leaving without them even less.

"At least take more men with you," Tulok presses.

"We'll be fine," Hakoda reassures them, yet again. "You men are needed here. This fight is too important to spare anyone else."

"I trust you, Chief," Amaruq say seriously. Then he places his hand over his heart and bows with a flourish. "Hakoda, Chief of the Southern Tribes, fierce warrior and hugger of enemy princes!" 

The crew howls with laughter. Hakoda rolls his eyes, but lets the men have their fun. It's not like he has a choice, anyway. Even if he lives to be a thousand years old, he'll never live this down.

"Watch it, Amaruq," Hakoda warns once the noise dies down. "I haven't left yet. I can still order you thrown overboard."

"Actually, we already voted Kalik in as captain," Amaruq answers with a shit-eating grin. "So technically he's in charge now."

Kalik pretends to think about it, and then shrugs with a completely straight face. "Yeah, I'm okay with that."

"Hey!"

Behind them, the crowded deck parts like a current as two men carrying a stretcher emerge from below, the unconscious prince suspended between them. Arrluk follows them up.

"Set him down here," the healer instructs, gesturing to the middle of the cutter. "Gently, please."

The men do so, trying their best not to jostle the prince too much as they lay him in the boat. Arrluk has rustled up some spare clothing for the kid, a worn anorak with a hood, a pair of fur-lined mittens, and some waterproof trousers. All of it is too big and too blue to fit him well, but it's certainly better than nothing in the cold southern air. Apparently the same can't be said for a pair of shoes though, so instead Arrluk has knotted the end of one pant leg to cover the prince's bare left foot. His right is still in the boot they found him in, the ankle band a shock of blood red against the shades of cobalt and indigo.

After directing the men to tuck furs around the boy's still body, Arrluk hands Hakoda a satchel of medical supplies and a glass jar of powder.

"Give him a few pinches of this mixed with water every four hours or so," Arrluk explains. "It should keep his fever manageable and keep him under until you get home. Kanna will be able to take it from there."

Hakoda clasps arms with the old healer. "Thank you, Arrluk. There aren't many who would have done what you did."

"Likewise, Chief," Arrluk replies, his blue eyes twinkling. "Hopefully neither of us regrets it later."

At his side, Bato touches Hakoda's shoulder. "It's time. We should go now, before we lose the wind."

Hakoda glances around the deck at all the familiar faces, and feels a sharp pulling sensation in his chest. Two years ago, it was Hakoda who had gathered the men of their village and spoken with conviction about the need to leave their homes and go to war. That instead of waiting for another raid to steal their loved ones, like the men of generations past, they needed to take the fight directly to the Fire Nation. The men had roared their approval, and in return had walked away from their lives, taken up weapons, and followed Hakoda into battle halfway around the world.

And now he's leaving those same men behind, before the fighting is even over. Hakoda hopes his plan will stop the war for his tribe, and that all this will be worth it in the end. But that doesn't change how wrong it still feels.

Really and truly, Hakoda doesn't want to leave. 

One by one, he and Bato hug and clasp arms with the men they've shared everything with in the past two years. They climb into the loaded cutter, Hakoda at the bow and Bato at the stern, the prince bundled between them. Then the small boat is slowly lowered over the side.

Hakoda trails a hand against the _Akhlut's_ sun-warmed wood as they descend into the water. She's a good ship, and has served him well. She'll continue to do the same now for his men. "Take care of them, old girl," he whispers.

The crew gathers at the rail to see them off.

"Safe travels."

"Be careful!"

"Send us a message once you arrive!"

"We will," Bato says.

"You worry too much!" Hakoda calls back. "The prince is a teenager at most, and he can't walk. How much trouble can he be?"

Kalik makes a face. "Famous last words, Chief."

Bato uses one of the oars to push off the hull, sending the cutter away from the ship. Soon the current catches them, and the sail fills, pulling them in opposite directions until both vessels are just specks on the horizon. The _Akhlut_ to her next mission, and them towards the south.

Towards home.

* * *

Sokka struggles underneath another armful of snow, his boots slipping a bit as he carries it to the far side of his watchtower. He drops the load and then starts carefully packing it into place. The last storm had really done a number on it, toppling the tower clean over and crumbling it like dust. This time, he's going to try rebuilding it wider at the base, to give the tower better support. Yeah, that'll totally work. He'll show that damn storm!

"This would be so much easier with ice," Sokka mutters under his breath. He casts a scornful look over his shoulder to where Katara is helping Gran-Gran with chores. What use is stupid waterbending when his stupid sister won't even use it to help him?

Sokka is stomping back for more snow when he sees something on the water. At first he thinks it's a tiger seal, its striped back glistening in the setting sun. But then he squints and sees the object is bobbing on top the waves, not underneath them.

Maybe it's a piece of driftwood? Sometimes debris washes up on shore, downed tree limbs floating across the ocean from far away. Other times it's a different kind of wood, smoother and more intentionally formed. He tries not to imagine where that kind comes from, how it ends up splintered and scorched between the ice floes.

Whatever it is, it's getting closer. On a whim, Sokka waves at the distant shape.

The shape waves back.

Sokka's breath stutters in his chest and his heart leaps into his throat.

No. It can't be. Can it? 

Before he even realizes it, Sokka's feet take off running across the village. He doesn't stop until he barrels into his sister near the communal fire. "Katara! _Katara!_ "

"Sokka, what are you doing?" She snaps. "Is this about your dumb tower? Because for the last time, I'm not—"

Sokka grabs Katara by the shoulders and bodily turns her around to face the ocean. Then he points towards the water, to the object getting closer by the minute. "No, Katara, look!"

"Is that…?"

Sokka can't answer, because he's too busy laughing so hard he's crying. Or maybe he's crying so hard he's laughing. But it doesn't matter, because this time when Sokka waves at the shape, close enough now to see it's a small boat, a familiar person is waving back.

Katara drops the laundry she's been scrubbing in a wet heap. Her mouth falls open in shock and her eyes grow wide, her voice barely above a whisper and so full of hope it would make Sokka want to cry if he wasn't already.

"…Dad?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update brought to you by too much coffee and not enough sleep. Sorry Zuko didn't do much this chapter, but I promise there will be more of our favorite prince in the next one, as well as the long-awaited reunion of Hakoda and his family. 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who's shown this story love! I'm having a blast writing this, and seeing all your responses is truly amazing. <3
> 
> As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome. 
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @hersugarpill.


	4. Chapter 4

Hakoda doesn't wait for the cutter to hit land before leaping over the side and into the surf. He can't, not after seeing Sokka and Katara running towards the shore, not after hearing their voices outside his dreams for the first time in so long.

"Dad, Dad!"

"Dad!"

"Sokka! Katara!"

Katara reaches him first, throwing herself into Hakoda's open arms with enough force to send him stumbling backwards with a winded laugh. Sokka is close behind, but then suddenly stops short. Instead, he squares his shoulders and offers his arm in a warrior's greeting.

Hakoda is filled with a bitter mixture of pain and pride to see his son—still a child in his eyes—trying so hard to present himself as a man. But the serious teenager in front of Hakoda is so different from the young boy he left behind, the formal expression on Sokka's face nothing like the wonder and excitement Hakoda remembers so fondly.

(Hakoda heard it said once that there are no children during wartime. The truth of it is standing before him now, and he's never hated the sentiment more.)

When Sokka's arm starts to droop and his expression begins to crumple, Hakoda finally relents. He grasps Sokka's arm, but only for a moment. Then he uses it to reel Sokka into his chest and envelop him in a fierce hug. Hakoda sighs in relief when Sokka finally relaxes and returns the embrace tightly.

Hakoda presses kisses to his children's temples, their foreheads, any part of their faces he can reach. He is home, and his kids are safe. Everything feels right again, his heart mended and whole for the first time in two years.

To Hakoda, it's felt like so much longer. It's felt like a lifetime.

"Oh, I've missed you both so much," Hakoda breathes as tears cloud his eyes. "So, so much. I thought about you every day."

"Us, too," Katara sniffs, her voice thick with emotion.

"I can't believe you're really back," Sokka says. He wipes his face and pulls back a bit to look up at Hakoda. With a jolt, Hakoda realizes how much taller Sokka has grown, how he barely fits under Hakoda's chin anymore. "Does this mean the war is over? Did we win?"

Hakoda shakes his head. "No. The war's not over. Not yet."

"But then why—"

"You kids have any hugs for your Uncle Bato?"

Both Sokka and Katara's heads turn towards the shore, their eyes lighting up. Behind Hakoda, the cutter has finally landed.

"Bato!"

"Uncle Bato!"

As soon as Bato steps out of the boat, he's mobbed by both kids. Bato laughs when they gleefully throw their arms around him, but it turns into a hiss when his injured arm is squeezed too tightly.

The children pull away immediately.

"Are you hurt?" Katara asks, her mittened hands hovering in concern.

"Don't worry, it's nothing," Bato says. He holds his arm carefully, trying to sound nonchalant even though his face is creased in pain. "You should see the other guy."

(Hakoda had killed the other guy, and would do it again in a heartbeat. But his children don't need to know that.)

"Wait, why are only you and Dad back?" Sokka looks between Hakoda and Bato, his expression turning anxious. "Where are the other men? And the ships? Did something happen to them?"

"No," Hakoda says quickly, "everyone's fine. The other men are still with the fleet. Bato and I are here on a separate mission."

"What kind of mission? Can I help?"

"Sokka, give them a moment to breathe. You can interrogate them after everyone is warm and dry."

The rest of the village has come out to greet them, but the line of cautiously optimistic faces parts to let Kanna, Hakoda's mother, step forward. Her face carries more wrinkles than it did two years ago, and her posture is a bit more stooped. But her ice-pale eyes are still as sharp as ever.

Hakoda's already full heart expands even further. A smile washes over his face as he leans down to pull her into a warm hug. "Hi, Mom."

"Welcome home," Kanna says, kissing him on one cheek and then the other. For a very brief moment, Hakoda is a child again, his only worry returning home for dinner before the sun set. Before grief threatened to pull him apart. Before the war.

Kanna does the same to Bato, making him bend almost comically low to put his face within reach. But he does so without complaint, swallowing her affection and threats to examine his arm like spun sugar. Since they were small, Kanna has been just as much Bato's mother as she is Hakoda's; there are some things more binding than blood.

"My boys," Kanna says, smiling up at them both. "I'm so glad you're made it back home safely. Now, come. You must be hungry after such a long journey."

Bato beams at her. "For your cooking? Always."

"I could eat," Hakoda grins. "Let us pull the cutter in and get it unloaded, and then you can stuff us with food until we drop."

The words are barely out of Hakoda's mouth before Sokka is hustling towards the boat. "Here, let me help—"

Hakoda stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Sokka. Bato and I can handle it. You go help your Gran-Gran with dinner."

"But Dad!"

Kanna loops her arm through Sokka's and chuckles. "Too late. You're mine now. Besides, it's not every day warriors return to our shores. I think this calls for a feast!"

"You don't have to do that, Kanna," Bato says hastily. Then he winces when Hakoda elbows him hard in the side. Hakoda's not about to let Bato's modesty ruin the best meal they've been offered in years. "I mean, we'd be honored," Bato amends weakly.

Kanna looks positively delighted.

"Okay, _fine_ ," Sokka huffs. But then he perks up. "A feast means lots of meat, right? Oh man, I can already taste it…"

Sokka lets Kanna lead him away as he starts listing all the different foods he wants to eat with increasing exuberance. The rest of the village filters after them, buzzing with excitement and purpose.

It's been a long time since they've had something to celebrate.

The smile on Hakoda's face slowly fades as he turns back to the cutter and its delicate cargo. Bato had wisely pulled furs over the still-unconscious prince before they landed, hiding him from view. Now they need to figure out where to put the boy. But first, they need to pull the boat out of sight.

Hakoda is about to ask Bato his opinion on the matter when he notices Katara hasn't followed the others back to the village. Instead, she's watching Hakoda with a solemn expression beyond her years, her previous tears dried and forgotten.

"Dad," she asks in a careful tone, "is there something you're not telling us?"

Guilt bubbles up inside Hakoda. Spirits, Katara looks so much like Kya now; the same hard determination in her face, the same sea-blue eyes that can flash from warmth to steel in an instant. Katara watches him and waits, like she can see right through him, like she knows he's hiding something, and that this happy reunion isn't all it appears to be.

And that his homecoming might not be permanent.

Hakoda swallows, and his guilt along with it. "No, honey. Why don't you go help your Gran-Gran and Sokka? Bato and I will be there in a minute."

Katara studies him for a moment more. Then she turns away and walks into the village without another word.

"We shouldn't be keeping this a secret from everyone," Bato says once Katara is out of earshot. "When you proposed this stupid plan, that's not something I remember agreeing to."

"We're not keeping it a secret."

"Then why did you just lie to your daughter?"

Hakoda sighs. "I'll tell everyone, I promise. I just… thought everyone deserved at least one good night, you know?"

Bato says nothing, but Hakoda knows he understands. In the face of horrible things, they'd both learned that sometimes keeping people oblivious is the best you can do for them; a gift of unknowing, of peace.

Even if it's just for a little while.

* * *

The feast is spectacular. Kanna really pulls out all the stops; there's roast arctic hen, squid ink noodles with pickled crab, and stewed sea prunes with blubbered seal meat and kale dumplings. Everyone crowds into the old meeting hall and the food is served in large communal bowls passed from hand to hand, never hitting the fur-covered floor until they're scraped clean.

After dinner, they gather around the fire and tell stories over steaming cups of spiced liquor and cloudberry tea. Hakoda and Bato share their war exploits (only the good ones, of course), and hand out letters the _Akhlut's_ crew had written to their loved ones. In return, the villagers take turns filling in the last two years. Their collective history is steady and predictable in a way that Hakoda finds comforting after the chaos of war; snow marks the seasons, children grow, the herds migrate in time. Life goes on.

Hakoda watches the smoke from the fire dance upwards through the jagged hole in the meeting hall's dome. It's damage left over from the last Fire Nation raid, the one that took Kya from Hakoda and sent him to war. It's still there, like a wound that refuses to close.

But so are they.

Even after everything, their tribe still survives.

"Tell the one about how Sokka almost captured an arctic hippo all by himself," Meriwa, Tulok's wife, teases.

"If by captured you mean it nearly dragged him into the ocean," Katara quips.

Sokka shoots his sister a dirty look over everyone's laughter. "Hey, that trap is a thing of genius. A few more adjustments, and it'll be fool-proof!"

"You mean Sokka-proof!" Kalik's little sister Amka crows, and the laughter redoubles until several people are slapping their knees and wiping tears from their eyes.

"Well, at least you didn't try to lasso it," Hakoda chuckles, mussing his son's hair. Sokka straightens his wolf tail with a grumble, but Hakoda can see he's smiling in spite of himself.

Suddenly, he spots Bato standing apart from the group, a silent figure in the gloom beyond the fire. When they make eye contact, Bato jerks his head towards the meeting hall's entrance, and then steps back outside. 

Hakoda waits until everyone is distracted by the next raucous story, and then slips out after him.

"What is it?"

"Something's wrong," Bato says quietly. "You need to come quickly."

Together, they hurry to the far side of the village. There, in the shadow of the outer wall, is an igloo storehouse. It's mainly used to stockpile dried and preserved food for the long, harsh winters. But with all the men still at sea, the storehouse is currently only half full.

Which is good, since Hakoda and Bato are now using the other half as a makeshift prison cell.

Hakoda ducks into the storehouse, Bato right behind him. With no moon or stars, the inside of the igloo is pitch black. Hakoda lights a whale oil lantern and holds it high. The yellow glow illuminates the wall of barrels and crates in front of them, stacked all the way to the domed ceiling.

Behind that wall, on a pallet of furs, the Fire Nation prince thrashes weakly.

Hakoda kneels by the boy's side. He's sweating buckets, his teeth gritted and his eyes squeezed shut. Hakoda pulls a glove off and places his hand against the prince's forehead. It comes back practically steamed.

Hakoda bites back a surprised curse, shaking his hand out. "Spirits, he's burning up! Is there any more of Arrluk's medicine left?"

Bato makes a grim expression and shakes the empty jar."Nope."

"Great." Hakoda rubs his other hand down his face. "Well, we need to get his fever down. Even a firebender can't survive long with a temperature this high."

"Yeah, it'd be a shame if he died after we went through all the trouble of getting him here."

" _Bato._ "

"Arrluk said breaks like his often get infected," Bato says, becoming more serious. "And if that's what this is, then we're in over our heads. We need a real healer. So, not to spoil the whole secret that's not a secret thing, but…"

Hakoda sighs heavily. So much for one good night.

"Yeah. I'll go get her."

* * *

Kanna bustles into the storehouse, medical bag slung over her shoulder. She takes one look at the prince and stiffly kneels next to the pallet to check him over.

"How long has he had the fever?" She asks, feeling the boy's forehead with a feather-light touch.

"A few hours, maybe," Bato answers.

Kanna glances up sharply. "And you didn't bring him to me immediately? A fever this high can kill, firebender or no." She turns to fix Hakoda with a stern look. "Just who is this boy? And why are you keeping him from everyone?"

Hakoda takes a deep breath and lets it out. There's no softening it now. The prince doesn't have that kind of time, and Hakoda doesn't think any words in the world will make what he's about to say all right.

"This is Zuko, crown prince of the Fire Nation. We've brought him here to ransom him back to the Fire Lord."

Kanna's expression falls away, her face becoming blank like stone. She stands and backs away from the pallet, her eyes flat and unseeing. For a long few moments, she says nothing.

But Hakoda knows underneath that, his mother is remembering.

This is why Hakoda had wanted to wait. So that he could prepare his people, ease them into it. So that his mother would not have to relive all the Fire Nation has taken from her; her husband, Hakoda's father; her first son, who Hakoda never had the chance to meet; countless friends and neighbors.

An entire generation of their culture.

Kanna closes her eyes and takes a deep, shaky breath. When she speaks, her voice is as deadly as any steel.

"You brought him here." It's a damning statement, not a question. "To our home."

Hakoda swallows. "Yes."

Kanna opens her eyes. When she turns them on Hakoda, they are blazing with fury.

"How _dare_ you _._ "

Bato flinches like he's been struck. Hakoda rocks back on his heels, his guilt a knife between his ribs. His mother's anger is like a physical force, like a tempest, an inferno, threatening to swallow the entire storehouse, and them along with it.

"I'm sorry." Hakoda means it with every fiber of his being, but knows words cannot touch what Kanna is feeling. Nothing can. "I know, and I'm sorry—"

Kanna holds up her hand. Silence like a freezing fog engulfs them.

"What are you hoping to get in exchange for the prince?" She asks simply.

"The release of all our captured warriors. And a peace treaty for our tribe."

Kanna's eyes are hard as frozen tundra. "The Fire Nation does not negotiate. They attack, they steal, they murder. It has been that way since long before you were born."

"I think the Fire Lord might be willing to negotiate, for something as important as his son."

"The Fire Lord has spent the last sixty years treating our tribe as less than human. Why should we assume he himself is any different?"

Kanna's words are like ice shards, scathing enough to draw blood. Hakoda bows his head and accepts her rage; it's no less than he deserves. Beside him, Bato's posture sags, his face tight his own grief and anger.

(Hakoda wants to think that nothing is worth this. But if that were true, he wouldn't have brought the prince back here in the first place, would he?)

Kanna slowly walks around Hakoda to get a better look at the boy. She gazes down on him for a long moment, watches his eyes roll behind closed eyelids, his hands clenching and unclenching in the furs. Hakoda isn't sure what she's thinking, since she doesn't say a word. But whatever it is, his mother seems to soften, just barely.

"Show me his leg."

Hakoda's head snaps up. He shares a hesitant look with Bato, but then quickly does as Kanna asks, pulling up the prince's loose pant leg to reveal the broken limb.

Kanna kneels again to examine it. She tilts the boy's leg this way and that. Then she peels back the bandage and prods the open wound, ignoring how it makes the prince shift restlessly in pain.

"You're right about the infection," Kanna says, the anger in her voice having cooled into something more practiced. "But before I can treat it, I need to stitch this wound closed. And before I can do that, I need to set the leg."

"So… you'll help him?" Hakoda asks. He can see the same tentative question in Bato's raised brows.

His mother levels a stare at him. Behind her ice-blue eyes, Hakoda can see her previous fury boiling just beneath the surface.

"Hold him still," she says. "Before I change my mind."

Hakoda rushes to do as he's told, applying pressure to the prince's shoulder. Bato does the same on his other side. Hakoda then places a hand on the boy's chest. As Kanna gets to work unlacing the splints, Hakoda silently hopes they don't have a repeat of what happened in the _Akhlut's_ infirmary.

Like a curse from the spirits themselves, the prince picks that moment to shiver awake. His golden eyes roll from Hakoda to Bato, and back again. In a true testament to how feverish he is, it takes a few seconds before the boy begins fighting them in earnest.

"Get off me!"

"Prince Zuko, we're trying to help you—"

"Get _off!_ Let me go!"

"Bato, hold him still—"

"You try doing this with one arm!"

The prince ignores them and continues struggling fiercely. Hakoda doesn't see any fire yet, but the kid is angrier than a tiger shark caught in a net, and growing more vicious by the second.

It's Kanna who finally gets him to stop. With a firm grip around the prince's ankle, she chastises him in a harsh voice.

"Young man, your leg is badly broken. If I don't set it now, you will never walk again. I may even have to amputate it. Is that what you want?"

The prince freezes and stares at Kanna, breathing heavily. His good eye grows round with fear. Eventually, he shakes his head.

"Good. Are you going to hold still and let us help you, then?"

The prince glares at all of them, his eyes glassy from the fever. But then he gives the barest of nods.

"Wise choice," Kanna says. "Now, I need to set your leg. It's going to hurt. I have medicine I can give you."

"So you can knock me unconscious again?" The prince huffs. "No. Just do it."

"You misunderstand me. When I say it's going to hurt, I mean a great deal. Even grown men cry like children."

The prince snarls at her, the shake in his voice at odds with the ferocity in his fever-bright eyes. "I said, _do it._ "

The three adults exchange glances. Surely the prince can't be serious. Hakoda has seen his mother perform this procedure only once before, but he knows she's not exaggerating the pain level; even with the herbs Kanna had given him, the hardened warrior she was treating had screamed like a baby.

He's about to insist the prince be drugged when Kanna pulls a battered strip of leather out of her medical bag. She hands it to Hakoda. "As you wish. Put this between his teeth."

"I don't need it," the prince hisses.

"I suppose you don't need your tongue, either?"

The prince stares at Kanna in horror. After a moment's consideration, he begrudgingly opens his mouth.

"No biting," Hakoda warns. The prince manages to sneer even as Hakoda carefully wedges the strip between his teeth.

"Make sure you hold him tightly." Kanna adjusts her grip so one hand is cradling the prince's heel, and the other his calf. "On the count of three."

Both Hakoda and Bato nod. Kanna waits until the prince does the same, his expression determined even as his breathing tips towards terrified.

"One, two—"

Kanna pulls hard on the boy's leg, and then wrenches his foot sideways. His leg snaps back into alignment with a wet pop. The prince throws his head back and his body bows completely off the pallet, every muscle going rigid with agony. But the only sound that escapes him is a choked-off gasp, the rest smothered behind his clenched teeth and the leather buried between them.

Kanna lowers his leg back to the pallet. The rest of the prince gradually follows until he all but collapses on the furs. His pale and sweaty face is still etched with pain, but his eyes are fluttering as unconsciousness begins to claim him again. 

Kanna examines her handiwork, flexing the prince's foot up and down. She nods to herself, seemingly satisfied.

"Will he live?" Hakoda asks. He tugs the leather strip from the prince's slack mouth and returns it to Kanna's bag after wiping it on his trousers.

Kanna pulls out a bone needle and a spool of thread. "If we can keep his fever down until the infection is gone, then yes, most likely."

Hakoda breathes a sigh of relief. He lays his hand on top of Kanna's much smaller ones. "Thank you, Mom. Truly."

Kanna pauses for a moment. Then she pats Hakoda's hand with one of her own, and begins to stitch the prince's wound closed. "I have two conditions. One: You tell the village about the prince and your plan. Everyone has to agree before you move forward."

"Okay," Hakoda says. "I'll call a meeting to tell everyone."

"Two: If the prince hurts anyone, threatens to hurt anyone, or becomes too much of a danger…" Kanna looks up from her work, her gaze cutting enough to pierce straight through Hakoda's heart. "He dies."

Hakoda freezes, ice sliding into his gut. He looks at the prince's face, unmarred by pain and easy with sleep, and is again struck by how young he appears.

And then, very slowly, he nods.

* * *

Zuko hurries down the passageways of the _Wani_. He's looking for something. He knows these metal halls like the back of his hand, but every staircase is a dead end, and every door leads only to a steel wall. This isn't right. None of it's right.

What's he looking for again?

Zuko sees a flash of dark hair, the very end of a cloak around a corner, and then he remembers.

"Mom!"

Zuko throws open the next door and finds himself in the Fire Nation palace. He knows this place too, or he did, once upon a time. Moonlight streams in through the open windows, the long drapes flowing inward like many-fingered hands. Zuko exhales, and his breath comes out in a frozen cloud. He doesn't remember it being so cold here. Why is it so cold?

Down the long hall, Zuko sees the end of his mother's robes trail out of sight once more, blood-red silk on crimson on black.

"Mom," he whispers, running to catch up, his bare feet silent on the plush carpet. "Mom!"

But she's not there. Again and again Zuko runs, down corridors and between pillars, but he can never catch her.

Why won't she wait for him? Why won't she let Zuko come, too? He wants to, he would, he would leave all this behind in a heartbeat—

"Zuzu, don't you know Mom is dead?"

Azula appears between the black marble columns, her grin as sadistic as her voice is sugary-sweet.

"She's not dead!" Zuko shouts. "She's not!"

"Oh, Zuzu, you big dummy," Azula croons. "She died because of you, remember?"

Zuko turns and sees his footsteps have left burning imprints in the carpet behind him. The palace beyond is completely engulfed in flames, the drapes, the lacquer furniture, all of it burning. Zuko tries to bend the fire away, but it has a will and an appetite all its own, completely out of his control.

When Zuko spins around again, Azula is nose to nose with him. The smile on her face stretches wide, too wide, and then keeps going.

"She's dead, Zuzu. Mom died, and it's all your fault."

The fire has caught up with them. The carpet around Zuko's feet catches, and then he's burning too, his clothing, his body, his hair. He screams and the flames crawl down his throat while Azula just laughs and laughs—

Zuko lurches upright with a deep, shuddering gasp. He quickly pats himself down, smothering out any remaining imaginary flames.

A nightmare. 

Zuko puts his face into his shaking hands, white-hot panic still thrumming through him. He tries to breathe like Uncle taught him, tries to forget the image of his skin curling like burnt paper. Just a nightmare, just a nightmare, _just a spirits-damned nightmare—_

"Bad dream?"

Zuko jumps, his head snapping up at the voice. Out of instinct, he tries to scramble away, but he doesn't get far before his back hits something very solid and very cold. And if it was just a nightmare, then why does it feel like his leg is still on fire?

Zuko groans, but it turns into a dry cough that sticks in his throat. His mouth tastes terrible, and his head is pounding like a drum.

"You're probably dehydrated. Here."

The yellow glow of a lantern illuminates the voice into the shape of a man. He's of medium height, brown-skinned, and dressed in a thick, fur-trimmed coat. His dark hair is tied back and adorned with beads, his short beard neatly kept. On his feet he wears heavy animal skin boots, with matching mittens on his hands.

But none of that interests Zuko. What does interest him is the predominant color, from the man's clothing to his eyes, distinguishable even in the lantern's low light.

Blue.

It pings something deep in Zuko's mind, like a smooth stone rippling a still pond. His memories come rushing back—the storm, breaking his leg and falling overboard, nearly drowning before being held at sword-point by the man standing before him and a dozen more just the same—

Zuko's not on a ship anymore. He's on land, somewhere freezing and with enough snow to make the honest-to-Agni igloo that curves above him. _The man in front of him is wearing blue_.

Zuko puts it all together, and feels his stomach bottom out in despair.

Oh, _shit._

The man is holding out a waterskin. "Welcome to the Southern Water Tribe, Prince Zuko."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may come a day when I don't update this fic at some ungodly hour, but today is not that day. RIP my sleep schedule. 
> 
> An extra-long installment since everyone has been so patient. Once again, thank you so much for the response this story is getting! <3
> 
> Next time: Hakoda faces the music, Zuko continues to have a Very Bad Time, and Sokka and Katara do some investigating of their own. 
> 
> As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome. 
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @hersugarpill.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a tag for body horror. It's mild, but better safe than sorry.

The prince hunches his shoulders and pulls his uninjured leg in close, his eyes darting between Hakoda's face and the waterskin in his hand. The boy looks like he's trying to decide if Hakoda's offer is a trick of some kind. Or like a trapped animal willing to chew its own foot off to escape.

Hakoda takes a step forward and the prince recoils, pressing himself against the wall like he means to melt through the ice blocks.

"Stay back," he croaks. Even still seated, Hakoda recognizes the firebending stance he shifts into, fists up and ready. But then he grimaces, one hand clutching his thigh. The movement must have jostled his broken leg.

"Easy," Hakoda says, raising his hands in a non-threatening gesture. He shakes the waterskin to make it slosh. "It's just water."

"So you can drug me again?" The prince scoffs. "Nice try."

Hakoda pops the cork on the waterskin and takes a small drink. "See? Water. Perfectly safe."

The prince doesn't move, doesn't blink. Hakoda replaces the cork in the waterskin and slowly crouches down, letting the prince easily track his movements. Then he slides the waterskin across the snow-packed floor.

It stops just short of the prince's left foot. He stares at the waterskin like it might bite.

"Go ahead," Hakoda says. "You've been out for almost two days. You must be thirsty."

At the mention of his unconsciousness, the prince's expression twitches into something sharp, like disgust. But then he swallows painfully and licks what must be dry lips, his fists wavering. His gaze falls back to the waterskin.

Hakoda holds his position, elbows resting patiently on his knees. He doesn't have to wait for long. After a few more moments of internal debate, the prince uncurls his fists and reaches for the waterskin. He moves slowly at first, hesitatingly. But then he snatches the waterskin up, cradling it protectively against his chest like he's afraid Hakoda might change his mind. The prince wastes no time thumbing the cork open and drinking greedily, downing nearly half the waterskin in one go. He continues to watch Hakoda around the spout, glaring even as water dribbles down his chin.

When the prince finally lowers the waterskin to take a breath, Hakoda reaches into his pocket. The kid tenses.

"I imagine you're hungry, too." Hakoda opens his mitten to reveal a small bundle. It's blubbered seal jerky inside an animal skin pouch.

The prince's stomach growls so loudly it practically echoes. He claps a hand over his middle, as if to muffle the sound, a look a brief mortification crossing his features. Then he wipes it away on his anorak sleeve, along with the water droplets still on his face.

"Thought so. Here." Hakoda gently tosses the pouch towards him, making sure it lands within arm's reach.

Again, the prince hesitates.

"I assure you, nothing's drugged or poisoned," Hakoda says. "If we wanted you dead, we wouldn't have tried so hard to save you."

The prince glares at him again. But after another doubtful moment, he picks up the pouch and tries to open it. When his mittens prove too much of a challenge, he pulls one off with his teeth and uses his bare hand to tug the pouch open. He gives the jerky inside a cursory sniff. Then he takes a small nibble. He blinks, swallows.

And then he tears into the jerky like a starving man, ripping off chunks and barely chewing before gulping them down.

Hakoda chuckles. Not even Fire Nation princes are immune to the deliciousness of blubbered seal jerky. He sits on a crate next to the lantern while the prince mows through the dried meat.

"You looked like you were in pain earlier," Hakoda says. "Is your leg hurting you?"

The prince barely pauses before cramming another piece of jerky into his mouth. He somehow manages to scowl at Hakoda while chewing, and doesn't answer.

Hakoda nods, stroking his beard. He'd hoped the food and water would win him some goodwill, but perhaps the prince needs more reassurance first. "Fair enough. How about a question for a question? You ask, and I'll answer."

The prince swallows. He tilts his face to the right, the terrible expanse of his scar on full display. Hakoda wonders if it's a defensive strategy. Or if it's meant to intimidate him.

"You're wasting your time," the prince rasps. "I won't talk. Even if you torture me."

Hakoda frowns. Just what had Ozai's son seen in his time at sea? "No one said anything about torture. Besides, you're just a kid."

"I am _not_ a kid," the prince snarls.

"My mistake. How old are you, then?"

The prince opens his mouth to answer, but then abruptly shuts it. He cuts his eyes away, furious at betraying any information at all.

"I think you're sixteen, at most. Is that right?"

The prince doesn't reply, but Hakoda has a feeling the boy would argue if he'd guessed too low.

"I don't know how things work in the Fire Nation, but in the Southern Water Tribe, sixteen is still a child. And we don't torture children."

"You're savages with morals, is that it?"

The prince hurls the insult like a blade, sharp and precise when it hits its mark. Outrages flashes to life inside Hakoda, his ears ringing with every time a Fire Nation solider had spit something similar at him. _Savages. Peasants. Barbarians._ All spewed as they tried their best to burn Hakoda and his men alive where they stood.

But then Hakoda takes a deep breath, and pushes his emotions down. Getting angry with the prince won't get him anywhere. Certainly not the cooperation he needs.

"We believe there are rules, even in war," Hakoda says with an evenness he doesn't feel. "Like not hurting children. And that even prisoners deserve food and water."

Hakoda waits for a rebuff, a sneering retort. But it never comes. The prince's scar gives nothing away, but his hands tighten around the remaining jerky in his lap, like he expects Hakoda to take it away at any second.

Hakoda sighs. "Let's try this again. I just want to ask you some questions. Okay?"

This time, Hakoda lets the silence stretch. The prince keeps his mouth firmly closed, and has pointedly stopped eating. Stubborn as a buffalo yak, this one. But Hakoda has two children of his own. He's well-practiced at waiting out willful silences.

The prince eventually clears his throat. "You said I could ask you a question."

Hakoda nods. "I did."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Hakoda. I'm the chief of this village."

"What do you want with me?"

"That's two questions."

The prince scowls and crosses his arms. He looks so much like a child pouting that Hakoda has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

"You're Prince Zuko, correct?" Hakoda asks instead. "The Fire Lord's son?"

In truth, Hakoda already knows this. One of his Earth Kingdom contacts, Huang, had already sent word while they were waiting for the kid's fever to break. The letter confirmed his identity—Prince Zuko, eldest child of Fire Lord Ozai, and heir to the Fire Nation throne—and explained that his telltale scar was from a youthful training accident.

(Or at least that's the official story. According to Huang, there are other whispers, rumors. Each one nastier than the last.)

But Hakoda keeps that knowledge to himself for now. Just in case he needs to verify any other information the prince reveals.

Said prince lifts his chin haughtily, as if he's presiding over a royal court and not a prison cell. "Yes."

"How did you end up in the ocean?"

The prince falls silent, that expression of self-disgust flashing across his face once more. It was hard to read around the scar at first, but Hakoda thinks he gets it now; the prince is _embarrassed._

Against his better judgement, Hakoda feels his anger start to dissipate. Dealing with the son of his enemy is a daunting, demoralizing task. But a teenager with wounded pride? That's something he knows how to handle.

"There was a storm that night," Hakoda offers. "A bad one. The kind that can cause even experienced sailors to fall overboard." He tilts his head and studies the prince. The kid shifts uncomfortably, rubbing his broken leg. "Is that how you were hurt?"

The prince looks away, but his hand springs back from his leg like a shot. That's a yes.

"With an injury like that, you're lucky to have survived as long as you did."

"Lucky would have not been falling off the ship in the first place," the prince mutters.

Hakoda huffs out a surprised laugh. "Yes, I suppose so."

The prince looks startled. He blinks, like he doesn't know what to do with Hakoda agreeing with him. But he quickly recovers.

"You didn't answer, before. About why I'm here."

"You're right, I didn't," Hakoda admits. "But hopefully, you won't be here for long. Just until we can negotiate your release with the Fire Lord."

The effect is instantaneous, like snapping your fingers, or a fishing line breaking under a heavy catch. At the mention of his father, the prince does the one thing Hakoda had anticipated him doing since waking up, the one thing even talk of torture had failed to inspire.

He panics.

"No," the prince blurts out, "you can't!"

"Prince Zuko—"

"I'll answer all your questions, ask me anything—"

"Your highness—"

"—just don't, don't contact my father, please—"

" _Zuko._ "

Frustration drives Hakoda to his feet, but then he freezes. At his harsh tone, the prince goes quiet, any other words dying on his tongue. The boy bows his head in a show of obedience, but before he does, Hakoda sees him flinch, sees the same terrified expression from the _Akhlut's_ infirmary.

Dismay drops inside Hakoda like a stone. He listens to the prince take deliberate, measured breaths, like he had upon first regaining consciousness. Trying to control his fear. To bury it.

"I'm afraid contacting your father is non-negotiable, Prince Zuko," Hakoda says in a calmer voice. "But in the meantime, I promise that no one here will hurt you."

"Not unless I give you a reason to, right?"

The prince's words seem like they should be delivered in the same scornful tone as before. But instead, he just sounds… exhausted. Resigned.

Like the kid expects to be hurt no matter what Hakoda says.

Once again, Hakoda tamps down on the outrage that threatens to rise up his throat. But this time it's not directed at the prince.

"There are some ground rules we need to discuss," Hakoda says. He waits until the prince looks up before ticking each off on his fingers. "No escaping. No hurting anyone. And no firebending."

"No firebending?" The prince sputters, his fear flashing back into teenage angst in a heartbeat. "I can't just turn it off! And how am I supposed to keep warm? I'll freeze to death in this stupid igloo!"

"No, you won't. Just stay on the furs, and keep your hood and mittens on. You'll be fine."

"But—"

A knock from the other side of the wall interrupts the prince.

"Everyone's gathered," Bato says quietly though a gap in the crates. "It's time."

Hakoda nods, dragging a hand down his face. "We'll continue this later, Prince Zuko. I'll bring you some more food and water then, and also some writing materials."

The prince scrunches his face up. "Writing materials? What for?"

"You'll be writing a letter to the Fire Lord. As proof for your ransom."

Hakoda turns to leave, taking the lantern with him. As the last slice of yellow light follows him out of the cell, Hakoda sees the prince turn pale—well, paler—and swallow hard.

Once he and Bato are outside, Hakoda takes a deep breath, and then another. The arctic air is crisp and cleansing. It helps calm the mess of emotions still roiling inside him.

"That sounded like it went well," Bato says dryly.

Hakoda snorts. "Convincing a dolphin piranha not to eat me would have been easier." He shakes his head. "I don't know what I expected."

"So he's a brat," Bato shrugs. "All teenagers are brats. Remember us at that age?"

"Yeah." Hakoda turns to look back at the igloo's darkened entrance. Talking with the prince has left him feeling conflicted, like being pulled into a riptide with no shore in sight. In the midst of his anger towards the prince for who and what he represents, Hakoda also feels… concern. Worry, even.

The Fire Lord is a thousand miles away from the South Pole, but the boy fears Ozai like the man himself is there, in the flesh, ready to walk into the cell at any moment.

Just what had Zuko's father _done_ to him?

And more importantly, why does Hakoda care so much?

Bato pulls him from his thoughts. "You should get going. I can handle babysitting duty for a while."

Hakoda takes another deep breath and squares his shoulders. His eyes find the fractured dome of the meeting hall, easily visible over the rest of the village. Inside, his people are waiting, with no idea what Hakoda is about to lay at their feet.

Bato claps him on the back with a reassuring smile. "Good luck in there."

Hakoda nods, and starts walking towards his second impossible task for the day. He has a feeling he's going to need all the luck he can get.

* * *

Zuko listens to the fading crunch of the chief's retreating footsteps. He waits until the igloo is silent, until he's completely alone. Then, and only then, does Zuko let himself fall apart.

The stress that was keeping him rigid and upright crumbles away, and Zuko folds in on himself. His whole body shakes, a single sob rattling out of him before the rest are smothered in his hands. His chest heaves, but it feels like the air is too thin, like he can't catch his breath no matter how hard he tries.

Weak, so weak, why is Zuko always _so weak?_ He'd tried to keep his mouth shut against the chief's questions, but Zuko let his fear and anger get the better of him. Like he always does. _Remember to think before you speak, Nephew._ Uncle will be so ashamed of him. And Father will be—oh, Agni, Father will be _furious_ when he finds out Zuko has been captured. That he's not only failed to find the Avatar, but to avoid being kidnapped by a boatful of primitive Water Tribesmen, of all things. He will know Zuko is a failure, and an embarrassment, and then Father will—he will—

_You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher—_

Zuko's stomach lurches, and he nearly throws up. He clamps a hand over his mouth, his guts twisting around the dried meat and water swimming in his belly. He forces it back down, swallows. He can't show any more weakness. He _won't._

(He also doesn't know the next time he'll get food and water. He has no reason to believe the chief. None at all.)

Once he's sure he won't retch again, Zuko exhales carefully. He tries to take deep breaths, tries to recall the meditation candles from his cabin on the _Wani_ , the ones Uncle had given him. Inhale, exhale, the tiny flames growing and shrinking in time. In, out. In, out. Now is not the time to lose himself to despair. He needs to control himself. He needs to think.

Zuko takes stock of his surroundings. The igloo is small and windowless, maybe ten steps across. According to the cultural scrolls he's read, the Water Tribesmen live in igloos, but it doesn't look like anyone lives here. Besides him, there's just a pile of crates and barrels. A storehouse, maybe?

Zuko squints to see if anything is written on the crates—who knows, maybe their contents will come in handy—but it's too dim to make out. He can't see without more light, without moving closer.

But moving is going to be a problem.

Zuko hovers a hand above his broken leg. He's afraid to see how bad it is, to pull up his trousers and look. He remembers the pain he felt on the _Wani's_ icy deck, the blur of fever and terror aboard the Water Tribe ship, the agony of whatever that old witch had done to him. It hurt worse than anything except his scar, and that had taken months and months to heal.

Zuko doesn't have months, though. Not even close.

Very gingerly, he unknots his pant leg and frees his left foot. Then he carefully pulls the blue fabric upwards, shivering as his skin is bared to the cold.

Whatever Zuko was fearing, this is worse.

Everything below his knee is a horrible, blackened mess. What isn't covered by bandages and splints is bruised beyond recognition, so grotesquely swollen that it looks nauseatingly unnatural. Like it should have rotted and dropped off by now, a useless waste, no longer part of Zuko's living body.

A breath punches out of him, his vision going fuzzy with panic. What if Zuko never walks again? What if the old woman is right, and they have to cut off his leg? What if he can't firebend anymore?

(What if he becomes truly worthless?)

As if to prove otherwise, Zuko flexes his foot. Instantly, he's hit with a bolt of white-hot pain. It feels like lightning (he imagines), like fire (which he doesn't have to); like he's still dreaming. He grips his leg and pants, air hissing between his clenched teeth.

(Worthless, weak, worthless, weak, weak, _weak—_ )

Zuko pounds a fist against his good leg. No. He hasn't come all this way just to give up now. Not after everything he's been through. Zuko's always had to fight, always, and this is no different. This is just another obstacle for him to overcome, another shortcoming for him to master.

He needs a plan. If Zuko has any hope of redeeming himself, he needs to get away from this frozen wasteland, find the nearest port of call so he can send a message to Uncle.

But first things first: He needs to get on his feet.

Zuko tugs his trouser leg down over his injuries and reties the knot. Then he gets to work.

* * *

Sokka leans his chin on his mittened hand and sighs. With his father and Bato back home, he thought things would finally become more exciting in their little village. Fishing, hunting on the tundra, real warrior training. Maybe even ice dodging, since he turned fourteen last winter. You know, Man Stuff!

But here he is, doing the exact opposite: Babysitting.

Sokka idly watches as the dozen or so kids toddle around and play. A few of them are packing snow into a large pile. Sokka closes one eye, trying to make our what it's supposed to be. A whale walrus? No, then the teeth would be bigger. Some kind of seal, maybe?

Sokka sighs again. "Katara, would you please sit down? You're making me dizzy."

Beside him, Katara is wearing a groove in the snow by pacing back and forth in increasingly angry circles. As usual, she doesn't listen to him.

"This is so unfair!" Katara bursts out. "I told you something was going on, and now we're not even allowed to go to the meeting? Ugh!"

"You heard Dad, we're not old enough," Sokka says. "Tribal tradition states that you have to be sixteen to attend meetings."

"Well, it's a stupid rule!" Katara shoots back, throwing her arms up in frustration. "We're old enough to be left on our own, but not old enough to know something that effects the entire village?"

Sokka frowns. He hates when Katara gets like this, so angry it seems to twist her. Nothing he says seems to help. "Dad didn't leave us on our own. We had Gran-Gran."

Katara huffs. "You know what I mean."

Sokka does. Watching their father sail away while he stood on the shore, tears ruining his war paint, had been the second worst day of Sokka's life.

(The first, their mother.)

Sokka swallows. "I'm sure Dad has his reasons."

"Dad's never kept anything from us before," Katara counters. "Don't you want to know what it is? What's so important that he would lie to us?"

"He didn't lie," Sokka snaps. "Dad taught us that honorable men don't lie, so he would never do that."

"Yeah, when we were _children_ ," Katara scoffs. "Are you really still that naive?"

Sokka bolts to his feet, anger boiling in his belly. "Why can't you just be happy that Dad's back? Why do you have to look for an excuse to be mad at him and ruin it?"

Sokka knows it's a cheap shot. But it makes Katara deflate a bit, her shoulders sagging.

"Of course I'm happy he's back," she says in a quieter voice. "More than anything. But I saw Dad and Bato drag that boat to the storehouse. They're hiding something, and you know it."

Sokka knows that, too. He's not stupid. He'd seen Dad and Bato acting shifty, how they both left the feast early and didn't return until much later that night. But after two years of worrying that their father would never come home again, Sokka just wants them to be happy. A happy family, loving and together and safe. Like they were before. Is that too much to ask?

"I trust Dad," Sokka finally says. "If he didn't tell us something, then I'm sure there's a good reason for it. We just need to be patient."

Katara rounds on him, fierce determination burning in her eyes. Uh-oh. Sokka knows that look. It means his sister is about to lose her temper and do something spectacularly stubborn.

"No," Katara says firmly, hands on her hips. "If Dad's not going to tell us, then I'm going to find out myself!"

"Come on, Katara. Dad told us to stay here and watch the kids, so that's what we should do."

"If you want to stay, then stay. But I'm going to get answers."

With that Katara turns sharply on her heel, her braid whipping behind her, and stomps back towards the village. Sokka drags a hand down his face. Sometimes, he really hates being right.

"Katara, wait!" Sokka starts to follow her, but then turns back. If they both leave, no one will be there to watch the kids. "Amka, you're in charge," he says quickly. At eleven years old, she's the next oldest. "We'll, uh, be back later."

Amka crosses her arms and levels a shrewd look at him. "And what do I get out of it."

Sokka stops in his tracks. "The knowledge of a job well done?"

"Yeah, I was thinking of actual compensation."

Sokka glances anxiously over his shoulder at Katara's retreating back. "What do you want?"

"Your blubbered seal jerky stash."

"What?" Sokka squawks. "No way!" He loves blubbered seal jerky more than anything, more than his favorite knife, more than even Boomerang.

Amka shrugs. "Okay. Have fun explaining how all the kids wandered off and got eaten by a polar leopard."

Sokka groans in frustration. "Fine! You can have… a quarter of my seal jerky."

"Half."

"A third, and you don't tell anyone where we went."

"Deal."

Amka sticks our her hand and Sokka quickly shakes it before running after Katara. She's halfway to the meeting hall by the time he catches up.

"Change your mind?" She asks. Then she waves her hands threateningly, making the snow around Sokka's feet ripple with her bending. "Or are you here to try to stop me?"

Sokka gets straight to the point. He's been frozen in place by his sister's freaky powers enough to know it sucks, big time. "What's your plan? Are you just going to march into the meeting hall and demand Dad tell you everything?"

Katara still looks pissed, but she drops her arms. "Maybe."

"And you see that working?"

"What, you have a better idea?"

Sokka scoffs. "Always. You said you saw Bato and Dad drag the cutter to the storehouse, right? So instead of busting into the meeting and getting grounded for all eternity, why won't we just go see what's inside for ourselves?"

Katara narrows her eyes at him. "You want to break into the storehouse."

" _I_ don't want to do anything. But as the oldest, I can't allow you to execute such a shoddy plan. You'll make us both look bad."

Katara rolls her eyes. But then she looks from the meeting hall to the storehouse on the other side of the village. A slow smile spreads across her features, her previous anger melting away like frost in the sunlight. "That is a pretty good plan."

Sokka returns the grin. "Yeah, I know. What would you do without me?"

"Not have to wash your disgusting socks?"

"You know, words hurt."

"You'll get over it." Katara says lightly, grabbing Sokka's arm and steering them both towards the storehouse. "Come on, Plan Guy. Let's do this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this story doesn't have an official update schedule, it was never my intention to go so long without posting a new chapter. Family deaths, mental health issues, and work have made it difficult to write these past months. Thank you to everyone for being patient, and to those who have commented, left kudos, and bookmarked this story in the meantime. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. <3
> 
> As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome. 
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @hersugarpill.


	6. Chapter 6

After Hakoda finishes speaking, the silence in the meeting hall is thick and tense, like the exhale just before a blow is thrown. The women of their village—many of them the wives, mothers, and sisters of Hakoda's crewmen—stare back at him.

And then everyone starts talking at once.

"You can't be serious—"

"A _firebender?_ In our _home?_ "

"He can't stay here! He has to go!"

"After everything we've been through, after everything they've done to us—"

Hakoda holds up his hands until the noise tapers off. "I understand this is difficult. But please, one at a time."

Meriwa shoots to her feet. "You ask too much of us, Chief Hakoda. How can we abide a Fire Nation prince in our village, while our men are risking their lives fighting a war against the very same?"

Mutters of assent echo around the meeting hall.

"I know it's a lot." Hakoda does. Especially when these women see him as the one who took their husbands and sons away, some never to return. "But I wouldn't ask if it weren't for an important cause. And the prince will only be here temporarily."

"For how long?"

Hakoda takes a breath. "I don't know."

Meriwa's face hardens, and protests bubble up among the women. Nukilik, a widow, rises to stand next to Meriwa. After Kanna, she is the oldest member of their village.

"What if the Fire Nation comes looking for him?" She asks in a weathered voice. "We will never survive another raid while our warriors are elsewhere."

"We are taking measures to obscure the prince's location. As far as the Fire Nation knows, we're holding him at sea somewhere far away from here."

Yuka, Kalik and Amka's mother, stands to speak next. "How will you keep everyone safe? What if the prince escapes and hurts someone? Or worse?"

"Bato and I will make sure that doesn't happen," Hakoda reassures her. "The prince will be confined to the storehouse, separated from the rest of the village. He's also badly injured, and still practically a child himself. He doesn't pose much of a threat."

"The boys we sent to war with you aren't much older," Yuka counters. "And a firebender is still a firebender. They're all threats, and it only takes one to endanger the entire village."

Cries of agreement ring out over the group. Hakoda tries to ask for quiet again, but the women aren't having it. One by one they stand, their voices growing louder and more strident with each passing moment.

Hakoda understands that he's demanding things he has no business asking for. To ask that Prince Zuko be allowed to stay in their village goes against everything their tribe has suffered through in the last sixty years. It's dishonorable, impossible, abhorrent. It desecrates the memory of every person they've lost, and the anguish of those who have survived in spite of those loses. 

But Hakoda needs them to understand, needs them to see beyond the here and now, to what's possible. His plan cannot work without their agreement, least of all because of his promise to Kanna. He may be chief of their village, but these women are the heart of it. While Hakoda and his men have been at sea the last two years, the rest of the village has been fighting a battle of their own; one of survival, for themselves, and their children. Without them, their village would have been swept away by the snow and wind long ago. Without them, there would be nothing for Hakoda and his men to return to, no culture, no tribe. No future.

And if Hakoda cannot persuade them to his side, how will he ever convince the Council of Elders?

Meriwa turns to the only woman still seated. "What say you, Kanna? Surely you don't agree with this madness."

So far, Kanna hasn't spoken a word, simply watching everything unfold with near colorless eyes. But now she slowly gets to her feet, and the meeting hall falls silent as their eldest member begins to speak.

"I won't lie to you. At first, I was also against Hakoda's plan. After losing my husband and eldest son to Fire Nation raids, the idea of providing shelter to a firebender is unthinkable."

Hakoda holds his breath along with the rest of the village.

"But think of it not as what we lose, but what we stand to gain. If Hakoda's plan is successful, it could mean the end of this war. Our men could come home, and our tribe would finally be safe."

Murmurs of approval ripple through the meeting hall.

"To me, the assurance that no future generations will suffer like we have suffered is worth the disgraceful price of harboring a firebender. But the rest of you must decide that for yourselves."

Meriwa gives Kanna a respectful nod. Then she and the other women begin discussing the matter among themselves. The volume and tone is less heated than before, which makes Hakoda hopeful.

He mouths _thank you_ to his mother, who has returned to her seat. For her wise words, and also for not revealing her second condition; that Hakoda end the prince's life the second he poses any kind of threat.

Kanna lifts her chin in acknowledgement, her expression clearly vowing to hold Hakoda to that promise, if needed.

The conversations die down, and the women turn towards Hakoda again as one, their faces resolute. They have made their decision.

Hakoda sends a prayer up to the spirits. "All in favor?" He asks.

Roughly three-quarters of the women raise their hands. Hakoda breathes out a sigh of relief. Not the unanimous vote he'd hoped for, but enough of a majority that he can move forward with his plan. He notes Meriwa is among those who voted against.

"Very well," Hakoda says. "Thank you. I will send word to the Council of Elders."

"You've never steered us wrong, so we're putting our trust in you," Yuka says. "Don't make us regret it, Hakoda."

Hakoda inclines his head. "I'm very grateful. And I will do everything in my power to be worthy of that trust."

Meriwa is still fixing him with that hard-faced expression. "And if something goes wrong?" 

"It won't," Hakoda says with more confidence than he feels. But the villagers don't need to know that. Adding his doubts to theirs won't put them at ease, and certainly won't help his cause. "I promise, everything is under control."

* * *

Zuko leans against a crate and pants, his leg throbbing and his heart racing. After painstakingly scooting backwards across the floor, he's finally managed to pull himself into a standing position by balancing on his good leg.

Zuko has only moved a few paces from where he started, but with his injury, it feels like miles. He's sweating underneath his fur-lined coat, and his muscles are quivering like jelly.

Zuko grits his teeth in frustration. Being unconscious for a few days shouldn't rob him of years of hard-won power and stamina. He's stronger than this, better. At this rate, the chief will return before he even makes it out of the storehouse. He needs to pick up the pace.

Zuko takes a deep breath and tries to step forward. But as soon as he puts weight on his broken leg, it buckles in an explosion of pain. He falls into the crates, barely able to keep from toppling over completely. He bites his coat sleeve to muffle the shout that tears from his throat, sucking in ragged breaths until the agony starts to subside.

Walking is out of the question, then. Not unless Zuko wants to face-plant all the way to the nearest boat and get himself caught. He'll have to make due with just one leg.

Balancing against the crates again, he experimentally hops on his good foot. The movement still jars his injury, but the pain is less intense this time. Almost tolerable. It's something Zuko knows from experience he can endure.

(Zuko had spent months in the darkened, infection-thick air of his cabin after he was first banished, becoming intimately familiar with the thresholds of his pain, and what lay beyond them.)

Zuko hops again, and again. Ever so slowly, he makes his way along the wall of crates. Before long he's panting and sweating again, pain ricocheting up and down his bad leg like fireworks. But he keeps going. Once he reaches the end of the wall, he cautiously peeks around it.

He can see the entrance to the igloo, and beyond that, daylight. Zuko lurches to the side and gropes along the frozen wall of the storehouse, trying to move as quietly as possible. He pauses just before the doorway and listens.

Nothing. Well, no time like the present.

Zuko half-hops, half drags himself into the sunlight. After days in the dark, it's wonderful to feel warmth on his face again.

But his victory is short lived. As soon as Zuko emerges from the igloo, he's tackled by something enormous, white, and deadly fast.

Zuko falls backwards with a yelp as he's crushed to the ground, pain rattling up his broken leg from the impact.

It's a massive dog, the biggest Zuko's ever seen. He throws his arms up defensively as the beast bears down on him and growls, saliva dripping from its gigantic fangs. He would scream, but the dog's huge paws are forcing all the air from his lungs.

"Heel, Snowball."

Just as quickly, the dog bounds off Zuko and goes to sit obediently at the feet of a Water Tribesman. He's leaning on another crate, dressed in the same blue clothing as the chief, a spear resting comfortably at his side.

"Snowball?" Zuko coughs in disbelief, his heart beating like its trying to escape his chest. Now that the dog isn't on top of him, he can see it has ice blue eyes and white fur, with a single black stripe running from nose to tail.

The tribesman shrugs. "The chief's kids named her." The dog barks, wagging her tail hard enough to throw snow in Zuko's face. "And she's a good girl, aren't you? Yes you are!" Snowball whines, wiggling excitedly. The tribesman pats the giant dog affectionately and then feeds her a bit of jerky.

He turns his attention back to Zuko and smirks. "You, however, have not been good. No treat for you."

Zuko spits slush at him and glowers.

"I think introductions are in order," the tribesman continues blithely. "My name is Bato. I'll be your friendly neighborhood guard during your stay here. First escape attempt is on the house. Try it again and I won't be so quick to call Snowball off. Easy enough?"

"So I'm not allowed outside at all?" Zuko demands. He winces as he sits up. "What if I have to go to the bathroom?"

"Ah, almost forgot." Bato reaches behind him and produces a small bucket. He plops it in the snow at Zuko's feet.

Zuko stares at him. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Do you not want it then?"

Zuko imagines steam is coming out of his ears. With a glare, he seizes the bucket, using it to brace against as he struggles to his feet again.

Bato just watches him with an undisguised look of amusement. Zuko notices his left arm is limp and hanging at an odd angle. Was he injured? If so, Zuko hopes it hurt. A lot.

Zuko staggers against the igloo, a gasp escaping him. All the excitement has caused pain to pool in his broken leg like dark, viscous oil. He clenches his shaking hands into fists.

"You need some help?" Bato asks, not moving to offer anything but more sarcastic commentary.

"No," Zuko hisses. "I made it out here, I can make it back."

Bato shrugs again. "Suit yourself."

Holding himself as dignified as possible—or as dignified as one can be when hopping on one foot—Zuko starts the long journey back inside. Luckily, Bato doesn't follow him. By the time Zuko makes it to the fur pallet, he's at the very end of his strength.

He eases himself to the ground with a groan, careful to end up on his good side. For several minutes, all he's capable of doing is taking deep breaths and squeezing his eyes shut against the pain in his leg, and the tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

(Weak, worthless, weak, worthless—)

Zuko snarls, disgusted with himself just as much as his situation. He almost throws the bucket in anger, but then thinks better of it. He doesn't know how well he'll be able to move later, in case he needs it.

Exhaustion and overexertion roll over him in waves. The shakes have moved up his arms and into the rest of him, making his whole body shiver miserably. Now that he's stopped moving, Zuko realizes how cold he is.

Gingerly turning onto his back, Zuko pulls his mittens off and cups his hands together. Taking a deep inhale, he focuses on his inner flame, and exhales to produce a breath of fire.

But nothing happens.

Fear curdles tight in his gut. He tries again. Nothing. Again. _Nothing._

Zuko flails until he's sitting up again. He punches his fist forward, one of the most basic firebending moves, one he's been able to perform since he was a child.

No spark, no smoke. Not even steam.

"No, no, no, no, no," Zuko whimpers, staring down at his trembling hands.

A memory, when Zuko was first brought aboard the Water Tribe ship: He'd tried to firebend then, too, and nothing had happened. Why had nothing happened? What was wrong with him?

He can't bend, he can't bend, _he can't bend_ —

Just as panic really begins to take root in his chest, Zuko hears something. People talking, he thinks. Two of them. His head snaps up, thinking Bato and the chief have returned. But he doesn't hear any footsteps, and no one appears from behind the wall of crates.

Zuko strains his ears. The sound is muffled enough that he can't make out individual words. With a jolt, he realizes it's not coming from inside the storehouse. It's coming from outside the ice block wall.

As Zuko continues to listen, the voices stop. The subsequent silence is deafening. Then he hears a slow grinding, scraping noise. It's hard to place until Zuko looks over his shoulder.

And sees the blocks in the wall start to move.

* * *

The rational part of Katara's brain is screaming that this is an awful idea. And not just because it's one of Sokka's. They've gotten themselves, and each other, into plenty of stupid situations over the years. Daring each other to ride an otter penguin off the tallest ridge? Bad idea. Trying to sail to Whaletail Island on a homemade raft? Bad idea. Convincing Sokka that yellow snow tastes delicious? Bad (but hilarious) idea.

This, though? Directly disobeying their father? With a high probability of being caught? Awful, terrible, horrible idea!

But the other part of Katara's brain, the part that's angry all the time—resentful of being made to do all the chores around camp, bitter about their mother's death, furious at their father for leaving only to return like nothing ever happened—thinks this is the best idea they've had in _years._

The storehouse is almost in sight when Katara spies a spot of blue among the white igloos and brown animal skin tents. She quickly darts behind the arctic hen coop, dragging Sokka with her.

"Hey!" He complains loudly. "What are you—"

Katara shushes him. "There's someone over there."

Sokka discretely peeks around their hiding place. Then he leans back and sighs.

"It's Bato. Dad must have left him there to stand guard."

Katara groans. "Great. Now what are we going to do?"

"I'm thinking." Sokka rubs his chin. "I know! One of us could distract Bato, and then the other one can sneak in!"

"If Dad told Bato to guard the storehouse, that's what he's going to do." Katara knows that their father trusts Bato implicitly, and with good reason. "It's going to take a lot to get him to move."

"That just means we need a big distraction." Katara can practically see the wheels in Sokka's head turning. "Fake polar bear attack? No, we'd need a costume for that. Arrows? No, not scary enough. _Flaming arrows—_ "

Katara sighs deeply. Her brother has a habit of overcomplicating things. "Sokka, focus. We can't put any of that together before the meeting is over."

"You're right, you're right. If only there was another entrance, we could…" Then Sokka's face lights up. "Ah ha! I've got it! We can make our own!"

Katara gives him an unimpressed look. "Pretty sure they're going to notice a huge hole in the storehouse wall. Besides, it would take too long to dig something like that."

Sokka wags his eyebrows obnoxiously. "Not if we use bending instead of digging."

Katara looks down at her mittened hands with uncertainty. "I don't know, Sokka…" She's been practicing a lot lately, but there's still so much about waterbending that she doesn't know. Since Katara's the only bender in the whole tribe, there's been no one to teach her. All she's learned has been through trial and error—lots and lots of error—spread out over years.

"C'mon, I know you can do it," Sokka says, nudging her with his elbow. "You've had plenty of practice freezing me, right? And the blocks in the storehouse wall are already frozen, so you just need to… do the opposite."

"Melting, that's called melting." Katara glances up at her brother. "You really think I can do it?"

"Sure. What's the worst that can happen?"

"We get caught and grounded for all eternity, like you said."

Sokka grins at her. "That's the spirit. Now are we doing this, or not?"

Katara curls her hands into fists. She feels a rush of tingling in her extremities, the well of power she uses for bending surging upwards beneath her skin. It meets the anger inside of her, and sings. "Yeah. Let's go."

They continue on to the storehouse, following the outer wall surrounding the village until they come to the back of the igloo. They approach quietly, careful to keep out of Bato's sight.

"Okay, I'll keep watch, you make with the freaky powers," Sokka whispers. 

Katara rolls her eyes. She kneels by the storehouse wall and examines the blocks. She's never tried to melt ice before, but like Sokka said, it's the opposite of freezing. So she should just do the opposite of what she normally does, right? Sounds painless enough.

Katara draws in a breath, extends her arms, and holds her hands facing out. Then she closes her eyes, and concentrates.

"I don't hear any bending," Sokka says quietly. "What's the hold up?"

"This isn't as easy as it looks," Katara grinds out. She can feel the water in the ice blocks, the individual pieces that make up the whole. Bending involves grabbing onto those pieces and then moving them, shaping them. To freeze, she pulls them apart until they form a solid. So if she hooks onto the pieces and then pushes them closer together, then—

Katara opens her eyes, and makes a shoving motion with her hands. Half the first block lowest to the ground cracks, and then evaporates into mist.

"Whoops," Katara mutters.

"Whoops?" Sokka hisses. "No, no whoops!"

"Can you be quiet? This is hard enough without you blabbering."

Sokka grumbles, but thankfully stops talking. Katara closes her eyes and feels for the water once more. Maybe melting is not what they want here. Even if she manages to do it, the water will only soak into the snow, and she'll have to find it again later to refreeze it. Wouldn't it be simpler to make the blocks not liquid, but just… less solid?

Katara inhales and hooks onto the pieces again. But this time, she pushes more gently, barely applying any pressure at all. When she opens her eyes, she finds the rest of the block has crumbled into small chunks. She scoops some up in her hand, a smile breaking over her face. She did it!

"Hey, not bad," Sokka whispers. He picks up one of the chunks and rolls it around in his palm. "You think you can do enough blocks so we can crawl through?"

"I think so." Katara inhales again, and using the same pushing motion, reduces another block to ice chips, and then another. When she's created a hole just big enough for her and Sokka to squeeze through, she stops.

"I should go first," Sokka says in her ear. "We don't know what's in there."

"No way," Katara hisses back. "I did all the work."

Without waiting for Sokka to argue further, she flattens out on her belly and starts shimmying under the wall. She pushes the ice chunks forward and away as she goes, but tries not to cast them too far aside. She'll need to be able to locate them all later, or the re-solidified blocks won't be the same size as they were, and won't fit back into the wall.

The inside of the storehouse is dim compared to the bright sunlight outside. Katara pulls herself through the hole completely and sits up, blinking until her eyes adjust. The expected sight of curved walls, barrels, and crates comes into focus. And then as she turns her head, something that is very much _not_ expected.

A pale boy is staring back at her.

Katara freezes in place and nearly screams, but manages to clap her hands over her mouth. For a moment, her and the boy just look at each other with huge eyes, both at a loss for words. His face—oh, his _face_ , what could have caused such a horrible scar—

Behind her, Sokka is wriggling through the gap in the wall. "Katara move, I can't get in if you're—" He sputters to a stop and runs smack into Katara's back. "Is that a guy? _Why is there a guy in here?_ And—whoa, what happened to his face?"

The boy snaps out of his reverie and scowls at Sokka. "What happened to _your_ face?"

"Look here, buddy—"

Katara tugs urgently on Sokka's anorak sleeve. "Sokka—Sokka, look at his eyes—"

Gran-Gran has been telling Sokka and Katara stories since they were small children. Gathered around the fire as the sun dipped below the sea, she spun fantastical fairy tales, the legends and parables of their culture, and when they asked, the history of the Fire Nation raids against their tribe. Their father refused to speak on it—especially after their mother died—but Gran-Gran was always willing to indulge their questions. _There is nothing to be ashamed of_ , she always said, _in remembering. The dead are never truly gone, as long as we remember them._

So she told them of the black snow, the ships that belched smoke like mechanical beasts, the terrifying soldiers that carried no weapons but flame. They wore armor that was impossible to break with clubs and spears, with horned helmets and face plates that made them look like faceless demons. But once, Gran-Gran had been close enough to see a soldier's helmet get knocked loose, close enough to see his eyes underneath; they were golden yellow, she recalled, unnatural and predatory, like the wolves that stalked outside the village on the coldest of nights.

The same color eyes as the boy sitting before them.

"Fire Nation," Sokka growls. They both jump to their feet, Sokka drawing his knife and pushing Katara behind him. She goes, suddenly eight years old again and so terrified she can't move. "How did you get into our village?"

The boy stares at them coldly. "Why don't you ask the chief? He's the one who kidnapped me."

"Our dad would never kidnap someone," Sokka spits. "Especially not an ash eater." Katara wants to believe that, too. But with the strange way Dad and Bato have been acting since they came back… and the boat. Of course. That's why their father had refused to let Sokka help with it. The boy had still been aboard it.

He was the mission they spoke of.

"I don't care if you believe me," the boy snaps. "It's the truth."

Sokka stalks towards him, knife pointed and ready. The boy tries to scramble to his feet, but his left leg is stiff and unwieldy, and his face contorts in pain. In his struggle to stand, a waterskin is kicked across the floor and slides to a stop at Katara's feet.

In a flash, Katara finds her strength. She reaches down for the waterskin, opens it, and flings water towards the boy. Using a familiar dragging motion, she freezes his feet to the floor.

"Don't," Katara says, grabbing Sokka's arm. "Look. He's already hurt."

Sokka stops. The boy struggles against the ice, but it holds fast. After a few more moments of straining, he gives up, clutching his leg and panting. It's obvious he's been injured somehow.

"You're a waterbender," the boy sneers at her in between breaths. "I didn't think there were any left in the Southern Water Tribe."

"Yeah, well you thought wrong," Sokka shoots back. "Now, tell us what you're doing in our village, or… or she'll turn you into a human popsicle!"

"Uh, Sokka—" Katara starts.

Sokka spins around and shushes her. "Don't say my name in front of the enemy!"

"I never agreed to interrogate anyone!" Katara isn't comfortable with the idea of hurting this boy. Even if he is Fire Nation, and deserves it.

"It's not—look, it's not a real threat," Sokka says through his teeth, "just a little something to get him talking."

"Well, I didn't agree to that, either!"

"Can we please go back to fighting," the boy interrupts. "That was less painful than this."

"Why?" Sokka scoffs, turning back to him. "You can't even stand. What, you gonna glare me to death?"

"Let me out of this ice, and I'll show you," the boy snarls. "I'll take the both of you, I don't need the pity of some peasant princess!"

"What did you just call me?" Katara asks indignantly.

"Princess," the boy repeats. He looks from Katara to Sokka, and back again, his expression sliding into confusion. "You said the chief is your father. And you're his daughter. So that makes you a princess. Right?"

Katara feels her cheeks grow hot. Sokka doubles over, his shoulders shaking and his face turning an alarming shade of purple. He manages to hold his howling laughter back for a whole three seconds before Bato comes storming in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, the first meeting! Insults, threats, and awkwardness... the making of a friendship for the ages if you ask me. Hopefully this was as much fun to read as it was for me to write! 
> 
> Thank you for all the kind comments regarding my family situation, I really appreciate it. <3 
> 
> Next time: Hakoda enacts the first part of his plan, lectures all three of his dumbass kids to varying results, and Zuko starts working on his next escape attempt. 
> 
> As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome. 
> 
> I can be found on tumblr @hersugarpill.


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